


I See the Wild Within Your Soul

by Bennyhatter



Category: Jacksepticeye - Youtube, Markiplier - YouTube, Youtube RPF
Genre: A bit of begging, Aggressively non-aggressive behavior, Alpha!Mark, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Author is absolutely awful at tagging, Bears, Biting, Chasing, Crushes, Dry humping at least, Felines, First Septiplier fic please be gentle oh god, First Times, First!Wade, Fooling around out in nature whoops, Gift!Fic, Humans who are animals in soul and stuff, Kissing, M/M, Mountain lion!Tyler, Playing, Possessive Tendencies, Scratching, Second!Bob, Slight Dirty Talk, Therian, Wolves, frottage???, primal, tackling, wolf!Jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: Mark was six years old when he realized that not everyone was a wolf. Some people weren't any kind of animal at all, which confused and upset him back then, because all he wanted was the comforting familiarity of someone like him.Jack was born into a family of wolves, and grew up knowing no other life. Now that he's out on his own, he misses the comforting familiarity of his family pack. He longs to find others who have the wild in their blood, just like he does.They end up finding it in each other.





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PoemIsDead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoemIsDead/gifts).



> FIRST SEPTIPLIER FIC WHAT
> 
> Y'all this is entirely PoemIsDead's fault you can thank them for this mess that you are about to receive. As stated once or twice or y'know, save me, this is my first fic in this fandom. I am both elated and terrified, because this is an incredible fandom I am plunging head-first into, and with a Primal/Therian fic, no less.
> 
> I just want to take a moment to say right now, that everything I use to describe these boys and their animal souls comes from my own life experiences, and the feelings/experiences of the people and packs I've met along the way. Everyone will feel and experience things differently, and I know that, so this is my best attempt to bring you guys something that is (hopefully) enjoyable while also kind of dipping into the mentality of someone who doesn't feel entirely human?
> 
> So. Um... enjoy. ;u; (And again this is all PoemIsDead's fault you can go thank them because they encouraged me to do this, so, yeah. All their fault.)
> 
> Also, I have no beta, so I did my best to weed out all typos and such on my own. If you spot something, feel free to let me know and I'll fix it!

Mark was six years old when he realized that not everyone was a wolf. Some people weren't any kind of animal at all, which confused and upset him back then, because all he wanted was the comforting familiarity of someone like him. He drove his mother crazy howling with the neighborhood dogs; he growled and snapped at Thomas whenever his brother tried to steal food off his plate, baring his teeth as a warning that often earned him punishments and demands to cease his unacceptable behavior. His parents didn't know what to do with him when he was young and uncontrolled, but Mark misses the freedom he had back then. He never goes a day without the phantom twitch of his ears or the comforting weight of his tail; the warmth of his fur rippling across his skin and the joyful wildness brimming inside of his soul. Now that he's grown, though, it's harder to let that aspect of himself show; he's learned very well just how harshly people will reject and shun what they cannot understand.

When he met Wade, Mark felt like he was meeting a member of his family -- someone he'd never known before, and yet he couldn't understand how he'd lived without the other man until then. They were both wolves, though Wade’s fur was a darker gray and thicker than Mark's lighter, thinner coat. He was bigger as both man and beast, but when Mark raised his head and lifted his tail during their first meeting, Wade lowered his own and showed his throat without so much as a lip twitch.

Not long after they'd established themselves, they met Bob -- the most laid back brown bear Mark has ever met, but still just as much family as Wade. He took to them as easy as breathing, and they welcomed him in readily when he showed interest; tumbling over his larger frame, licking at his face and whining happily as they explored this newest creature to amble into their lives. Both Bob and Wade accepted Mark ask their Alpha without any arguments, even though he was the smallest of them. They were all hunters, dominant creatures in their own rights, but there was never any fight over ranking. They fell into their roles as naturally as breathing, as if they'd never been anything else.

They've been pack ever since.

The three of them learned everything together, from identifying themselves as primals to really understanding what being primal meant for them. Having people who understood him did wonders to keep Mark grounded, even if his wild nature pushed him to the outskirts of most of society. It didn't bother him all that much; why would he want to be part of something he'd never fit into to begin with?

When they began their YouTube careers, it opened up a whole new world of possibilities for all of them. Mark could be whoever he wanted to be for the camera -- funny, playful, angry, intense, goofy, sad. He could growl and glare and snap his teeth at a game and no one would realize, or _care_ , about the implications behind it.

After tasting that new kind of freedom, he was determined to never let it go, even if it meant moving away from his pack in order to find a better opportunity in LA. It hasn't been _easy_ , but it's been worth it. He has his own home, his own _territory_ ; a place where he can be himself without worrying what anyone will say. A place where he and his pack can leap and wrestle and tumble without reservation when they visit; where they can curl up together and groom one another until the need to roam and _run_ drives them out into the night.

LA might not be the best fit for the wildness brewing just under his skin, but it's got it's perks. Mark just has to keep reminding himself of that on the nights when his loneliness and the nightmares tear apart his stability until his anguished howls echo off the walls.

\--

“We need to get together soon,” Wade says by way of greeting.

Mark leans back in his chair and stretches, rumbling at the satisfying series of pops and cracks that accompany the action. He's been working for hours now, the sun long since set and Chica fast asleep in her bed behind him. He'd been considering heading to his own bed when his Discord had notified him with an incoming group call from Bob and Wade. He hadn't expected it, but he wasn't about to turn down talking to his best friends in favor of another restless night alone.

“I'm not gonna argue with that,” he mutters, not bothering to hide his yawn or the way his tongue curls; the quiet whine that slips free before he shakes his head and blinks tiredly at his screen. “What's the occasion?”

“It's been a while,” Bob replies. They both look as tired as Mark feels, dark circles under their eyes, and he leans forward with a frown to get a better look at them.

“It has been, hasn't it,” he murmurs, shaking his head again and leaning back with a groan. “You guys know you're supposed to tell me _before_ it gets this bad.”

Wade huffs. “It's worse for you,” he argues. Bob nods, resting his chin on his palm and looking at Mark in that probing, intensely concerned way he has. “At least we're closer to each other,” his First continues, gesturing at nothing and still getting his point across. “You're all the way out in LA.”

“I've met people out here,” Mark defends himself, but there's no bite to his tone.

“Not pack, though,” Bob reasons. “Ethan and Tyler could be, but you know it's not the same.”

“I've still met others,” he grumbles, narrowing his eyes at their unimpressed expressions. They can recognize easily that there's no hint of warning in his voice or his body language, because Mark has never been that kind of Alpha. He knows their concern is because they care. They've been a pack for years, and Mark was the one who willingly packed up and moved to Los Angeles. If anything, he feels their absence more keenly, but he knows the distance wears on them as well. Not all primal packs are so codependent, but the three of them have been through a lot together; their connection has only strengthened over the years. It's one of the reasons Mark hasn't gotten on well with the few LA primals he's met; they're not _his_.

“They're not _pack_ , though,” Wade echoes Bob quietly, and it's like they've pulled the thoughts directly from his mind. His First rubs at his head and yawns, his jaw cracking and his tongue curling just like Mark's. “So whaddaya say there, big guy?” He switches topics with ease, probably sensing that they're all in need of a lighter subject. “You got a week to spare for your ol’ buddies?”

“I've always got time for you guys.” Mark grins, folding his arms on his desk and leaning closer to his computer screen. “Think of all the collabs we can film while you're out here. Maybe we can even take over one of the local parks for the day and film some challenges with Ethan and Tyler.”

Both of them nod, already looking a bit more lively even with the grainy quality of the call. Bob is bright-eyed and grinning; Wade’s smile is smaller but no less excited. It makes something in Mark twist and ache, knowing his decision to move has been part of the reason for their strain. They've been inseparable almost since the day they all met; their own little pack of three. Being so far apart can get difficult if they don't find ways to meet up and interact. It's one of the reasons they collab together so often. It might not be the same as being together in person, but it's the best they can do until an opportunity presents itself.

“We'll figure this out,” he murmurs, watching them with dark, worried eyes. “When you guys get here, we'll figure something out. We should have done it a while ago. That's my fault, and I'm sorry.”

“We've managed well enough so far.” Bob rubs a hand over his face before he leans a little closer to his computer screen. The noise he makes is low and soothing, a bass rumble that Mark swears he can feel in his own chest. “It's not all on you, Mark. We've all been busy as shit lately, but things are quieter now. I'll check my schedule and see how much time I can afford to spare. I should be able to clear at least a week.”

“Me too,” Wade agrees, glancing down at his phone with a frown. “It'll be good to meet up before PAX, too. Get a good run in us before that insanity.”

“It also gives us time to talk in person about Jack,” Bob adds thoughtfully. Mark feels his ears go up, his phantom fur prickling in response to the name. If his tail were corporeal, he knows they'd be able to hear it thunking against his chair.

“That's true.” He's trying to sound casual, but excitement and the late hour work against him. Neither of them call him on it, at least. “We can extend the offer to Tyler and Ethan too, I think; if the two of you agree.”

“Do they know?” Bob asks curiously. Mark shakes his head.

“They know we've got _something_ between the three of us, they just aren't sure what it is.” Mark runs a hand through his hair, combing his bangs away from his face. His next yawn is wide enough to make his jaw ache; he's so tired, and he knows that they aren't faring much better. “Get some sleep now, guys. We'll figure out the mechanics and shit when we're not all about to drop.” He's trying to sound stern and failing miserably, but that's okay; they can forgive him this one time.

“Sleep well, Mark.” Bob's eyes crinkle at the corners when his Second smiles. “I'll text you once I get things figured out.”

“Same,” Wade adds around a yawn that's so wide Mark can see his molars. “Catch you later, Alpha.”

“Rest up, you two,” Mark murmurs with a toothy grin. “Once you're here, I'm planning on running you ragged.”

“Promises, promises,” Bob teases, and then he and Wade are gone, one right after the other. Mark powers down his computer and stands, arching his back and twisting to crack it one more time. His movements wake Chica and she looks up at him, her sweet eyes heavy with sleep, though she's quick to stand when he rumble-whines to her. She whines back, soft and happy, and Mark bends over to lick over her forehead with a happy chuff.

“C'mon, girl,” he whispers. “Let's go get some sleep. Gonna need all your beauty rest before Wade and Bob get here.”

The retriever’s fluffy tail wags, and she follows Mark faithfully when he leaves his studio, the two of them heading for the cool darkness of his room and the big, empty bed that waits for them. Soon enough it'll be plenty full, once their packmates show up and they can all pile together the way they used to; wrapped in the comfort and security being pack has always brought them. Phantom fur brushing and hands twitching as they sleep and dream peacefully, limbs tangled until it's hard to tell who from who. It's the only time he isn't plagued by nightmares; another tally against LA that he tries not to think too hard about. It doesn't always work, despite his best efforts.

Mark misses the closeness of his pack more than he allows himself to dwell on most days. He's got no one to blame but himself for it, but he still misses them. It aches like he's lost a limb or some other vital part or himself, a feeling that doesn't go away until he's got them close again.

In the darkness of his room, he navigates his way around easily, getting himself ready for bed and checking that his alarm is set before he curls up under the covers. Chica quickly follows, a warm weight pressed tightly against his side that he curls around with a quiet, happy rumble. Sleep comes quickly, blessedly free of nightmares for once. Instead, Mark dreams of fresh air and sun-warmed fur; grass beneath his paws and the wind singing in his ears as he chases and romps with his family.

\--

Mark barely gives his packmates time to set their luggage in the spare rooms before he's on them. Wade grumbles and nips at him, no doubt tired from lack of sleep and his flight, but that doesn't stop Mark. He growls and nips right back, bullying the bigger man down the hallway with hard nudges and bared teeth until they're in the wide, cleared space of his living room. The two of them circle one another, watching with sharp, dark eyes; searching, waiting, their nostrils flaring as they inhale and draw in each other's scents.

Wade moves first, lunging toward him, and Mark's rumble is deep and loud as he meets the other wolf. They collide and go down in a writhing mass, yelping and barking and pawing at one another; rolling to and fro across the hardwood floors while Bob settles in the corner and waits. Wade’s nails dig into his sides and Mark retaliates by sinking his teeth into the taller man's shoulder at the juncture where it meets his neck. He growls through his mouthful, clamping down hard enough to make a point, but not hard enough to seriously hurt. After a tense moment, Wade whines and licks the side of his face, every muscle relaxing until he's limp. Only then does Mark let him go. He nuzzles and licks, whining in the back of his throat until Wade licks back and huffs.

“You're an asshole,” his First grumbles good-naturedly. Mark grins and doesn't bother getting up, turning his head to look at Bob when the bear finally wanders his way over and stretches out beside them. As soon as he's close enough, both wolves shift to enfold him into their cuddle pile, the three of them becoming a tangled mess of arms and legs and nuzzling faces.

“This wouldn't be an issue if you hadn't moved so damn far away,” Wade adds once they've all settled down again. Mark is sprawled across both of their larger bodies, his head on Wade’s chest while his First rests his own head on Bob's shoulder. They're all buzzing with tired eagerness, the feeling of pack and family settling into place under their skin. For Mark it's like coming home again, peacefulness washing away the tension that's been building in him for the last several weeks.

“Gotta go where the work is,” he mumbles against Wade’s collarbone, biting lazily and grinning at his packmate’s indignant grumble. “Besides, LA has the best Chinese food.”

“We have goetta,” Bob retorts cheerfully. Mark makes a disgruntled face and finally drags himself off the floor.

“You've got me there,” he concedes. “Tell me you brought some, or you're staying in a hotel. I mean it. If no bringy goetta, no Markimoo for you!”

“You'd never survive, in that case.” Wade rolls his eyes and accepts the hand Mark offers, letting the Alpha haul him to his feet. “We brought four rolls,” he adds before Mark can start whining.

“You are my favorites,” he announces gleefully. “Let's get that shit in the freezer, and then we can all nap.”

Bob lumbers to his feet with a quiet groan, his mouth open to taste the air as he breathes. He doesn't keep to his primal nature the way Mark does -- even Wade can be comfortable spending more time in his human skin, their ability to balance their humanity and the animal inside impressive. He's never quite mastered the ability to shift between one side of himself and the other; he's always been a human-shaped wolf.

Here, in the safety of his home, he can physically watch them shed those pesky human emotions and embrace their instincts. Bob settles into himself with a low grunt, his eyes dark and his movements slow when he swings his head from side to side. Wade is practically dancing in place, his usual jerky movements turned fluid as his wolf rushes to the surface. Joy makes Mark impatient, rocking up onto the balls of his feet and shifting in place as he watches them. The forced air is cold against his legs, his loose shorts dragging across his skin. His lip twitches at the feeling, his shirt already constrictive around his throat and biceps. He yanks it off quickly, dropping the white tee and kicking it toward the closest corner. Bob and Wade are quick to follow his lead, both of them dressed in similarly loose basketball shorts.

Mark tosses his head and settles into a relaxed hunch, his back curved and his fingers curled as he leans forward and chuffs to get their attention. They look at him, Wade’s head tilted curiously. Bob is quiet; he doesn't make much noise when they're like this. Time and closeness has taught them to understand the nuances of one another, considering they're a pack made up of different species. Certain things are universal, but Bob's vocalizations tend to sound a lot rougher than Mark and Wade’s. He makes one of those sounds now, a deep grumble that vibrates from deep in his chest and bounces off the walls.

Yipping quietly, Mark turns and leads the way upstairs, listening to them follow behind him with heavy, dragging footsteps. Chica is sprawled at the top of the stairs, where she's been watching them since Mark nudged her that way; he didn't want her to get hurt while they were tussling. Her tail thumps against the floor as she watches them approach, her head coming up and her doe-like eyes shining brightly. Mark crouches at the top step and nuzzles the canine, accepting her chin licks and licking her nose in turn before moving past so the rest of his pack can greet the retriever. He watches Wade headbutt Chica gently with a happy huff. Bob presses his face against her thick ruff and snuffles before stepping over her. She gets up to follow them, eager for the attention guests always shower her with. When she realizes that they're headed for Mark's bedroom she moves quicker, weaving between them and slipping into the room first. Mark lets her, shouldering the door the rest of the way open and circling around to the other side of the king-sized bed.

His packmates climb onto the mattress and Wade immediately starts shoving and pawing at the blankets. Bob drags the pillows into the center and arranges them in no particular order. Content to watch them, Mark lets their presence wash over him and fill the empty, lonely place inside his chest that throbs like an infected wound when they aren't with him. It's getting more difficult to manage, which is something they're going to have to address at some point over the next week. He wishes they could stay longer -- he wishes they wouldn't leave at all -- but he'll take what he can get for now.

Once the nest is arranged to their satisfaction, his packmates settle down and Mark climbs across them to find a comfortable spot. They become a tangled mass of limbs again; his legs woven through Wade’s, one arm tucked under Bob and the other pulling Chica close. There are arms around his back and waist going in opposite directions, and Wade’s face is warm against his ribs. They're a contorted mess, and Mark can't remember the last time he felt so comfortable. His yawn is echoed by the wolf and bear pressed against him, Bob's snuffling breaths in his hair blowing it in every direction.

“Park later,” Mark mumbles, sleep already tugging at the edges of his mind; creeping over the room like a siren’s melody and drawing them in together. “Proper run.”

“Sleep first,” Wade mumbles back, his nose rubbing against Mark's ribs. “Then food. Then run.”

“Plan,” Bob agrees groggily. He's the first to fall asleep, snoring quietly against the back of Mark's head within moments. Mark doesn't last much longer, surrendering to the peaceful promise of uninterrupted slumber. The last thing he's aware of is Chica curling around his shoulders, her head resting on his collarbone, before the darkness pulls him the rest of the way down.

\--

It's pitch black out when they finally rouse themselves. Mark stretches the way any wolf would, arms extended and spine bowed; his tongue curling as he whines through a yawn. Wade copies him, crawling over Bob to find a free spot while the bear rubs his face against the blankets with a grumble.

“Pizza,” Wade mumbles, tumbling off the side of the bed and settling on all fours for a moment before he seems to remember how a human is supposed to walk and stands up. Mark slides off his side of the bed and stretches one more time before he hop-prowls toward the door; not quite ready to let it all go completely. He hears Bob lumbering after him and glances back to watch his Second paw the gunk from his eyes.

“Pizza,” Bob echoes, his voice rough from sleep. Scratching at his throat, Mark hums thoughtfully before he finally stands upright.

“Then run,” he bargains, and they both nod in agreement. “Wade orders,” he adds with a wolfish grin. “My card.” He's having trouble formulating his words at the moment, still too deeply tangled in his wolf brain. At this point, if he huffed and barked at them, he's pretty sure they'd still understand what he was trying to say.

His First grumbles but digs his phone out of the nest anyway, squinting at his screen before holding a hand out toward Mark. He passes his card over and yips to Chica, who follows him eagerly when he lopes toward the stairs so that he can head downstairs and let her out.

The night is warm but the breeze feels good against his bare skin; ruffling his fur and tickling his nose with the scent of the city. He's content to watch his dog sniff everything she can find, smiling at her antics until the sliding glass door opens and he glances back to see Bob step out onto the deck. The bear makes a beeline for him and shoves his face against the back of Mark's head, nosing through his hair again and making pleased little grumbles in the back of his throat.

“Missed you too,” Mark rasps, grinning through his snort and leaning back against his packmate’s warm, sturdy body. Bob supports him easily, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. “Mandy?”

“She's good,” Bob gets out around a yawn. “She sends her love. She's worried about you too. Says it's not good for you to be out here all alone.”

Looking up at the sky, Mark tries to pick out glimmering stars amongst the dark, heavy clouds as he finally settles somewhere close enough to human to hold a conversation. “I'm not alone,” he protests. “Ethan and Tyler are here a lot.”

“That's not the same, and you know it.” Bob backs away, taking the warmth and comfort with him, but he's just repositioning himself to lean against the banister beside Mark; he swallows his displeased whine and presses their shoulders together instead, craving the contact he's gone for so long without.

“It's something, though,” he murmurs, his ears twitching when he hears the door slide open again. Chica meanders her way back up to them to squeeze between their legs and the railings; her wagging tail thumps against their bare feet, her eyes fixated on their faces while she pants happily.

“Pizza will be here in twenty,” Wade says, still sounding half asleep. His head thunks against Mark's shoulder and he yawns. “What're we talking about?”

“Mark's self-imposed exile,” Bob answers before Mark can. He huffs at the bigger man, and the bear clicks his tongue back at him. “You can call it what you want; we'll call it what it is.”

“I am not in exile.” Baring his teeth in frustration, Mark shakes his head at them. “You're all just jealous because I'm livin’ it up in sunny LA and you guys are stuck in Cincinnati.”

“Yes, because you're clearly doing so well for yourself, my mistake,” Bob deadpans. “You threw a chair, Mark.”

“That game is bullshit and you know it.” Crossing his arms, Mark glares out across the back yard.

“You put a hole in the wall, dude,” Wade reminds him with a frown. “It was a swivel chair, Mark. A _swivel chair_.”

“The fact that a game brought you to that level of rage is not a good sign, regardless of how angry some of these games are designed to make us.” Bob rests a big hand on his shoulder; he can probably feel how tense Mark is beneath his palm. “Why didn't you get ahold of us sooner?”

Mark reaches up to grind the heels of his palms into his eyes with a rough noise. “You said it yourself; we've all been busy.”

“This goes beyond just being busy.” Wade presses up against his other side and leans down to nose at his shoulder. “It's harder for you, being alone out here. Why didn't you call?”

Mark nips at his First’s nose gently, nudging him away so that he can turn his back to the yard. Chica slips out around him and sprawls across the deck in front of them, waiting patiently for them to finish their conversation. Wade doesn't go far, watching him with worried eyes; seeing more than he'll ever let on, because that's what he's good at. They can laugh and joke and troll each other -- and Jack -- all day long, but when it comes down to it, his pack knows him better than anyone. They can see past the smiles and goofy quips to the darkness that festers inside of him, threatening to swallow him whole the first chance it gets.

“I'm supposed to be the Alpha,” he whispers, the words tearing at his throat until he grits his teeth. “I'm there for you guys. I make those calls. I lead the pack when we hunt, or roam, or play. I shouldn't-” He cuts himself off with an aggravated snarl before trying again. “I should be _better_ than this.”

“Alphas need support too,” Bob says calmly. “No one can shoulder everything all the time. That's why you have a First and a Second. We're people, Mark; at least somewhat. I'm not a wolf, but I know you guys. You're my family, and Alpha or not, if you need a shoulder to lean on, that's what I'm here for.”

“Some wolves can be loners.” Wade leans in again and Mark throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders, dragging him down to breathe in his scent and bite at his shirt. The fabric tastes terrible and he growls unhappily; neither he nor Bob have put shirts back on. He doesn't like it.

“You're not a loner,” his First continues, letting Mark tug him wherever he deems suitable until the Alpha wolf is content; grumbling and chewing at the short hairs behind Wade’s ear to groom him. “So the fact that you've made it this long relatively well is admirable, Mark. But it can't go on for much longer, and you know it as well as we do.”

“Having Tyler and Ethan around made it… easier,” Mark admits. “But they're gone now, and I'm alone.” It sounds so bleak, but it's the truth; a harsh truth for a creature as pack-oriented and tactile as he is. “I can handle it for a while, but then it gets… difficult.”

“So we'll plan more trips for now,” Bob suggests. “We can find plenty of excuses to come out this way, or have you come back home.”

“It's not like we're poor. At least, not all of us,” Wade jokes, trying to lighten the mood. “Between YouTube and everything else, we can afford a week every other month or so. If something comes up, we'll find a way around it. We've got this week, and then in a month there's PAX. After that, we can figure out another time to meet up.”

“It's almost like you know me,” Mark says dryly. Wade snorts against his shoulder and pushes himself away to stare him down shrewdly.

“Admit it, you tried to make this trip about us, but deep down it's because you can't stand the silence.”

Mark has no argument for that. “I can't stand the emptiness,” he admits in a whisper. “I'm alone here and I _hate_ it. I miss having my pack right by me, but I made this choice. I've got to stick to it, no matter how much it sucks sometimes.”

“That's why you need to _call us_ , just like you expect us to call you.” Bob makes it sound so simple -- probably because it really is that easy. Mark just tends to get lost in the loneliness, searching and howling until he hasn't got enough voice left to scream; forgetting how easy it is to reach out because he's so twisted around he can't remember how to find his way back.

“I miss you guys,” Mark rasps. His eyes burn but the tears don't come, thankfully. His whine is quiet and strangled, a pleading noise, and his packmates curl around him without hesitation, wrapping him in their scents and offering support that he latches onto greedily. Mark clings to them, snuffling and sniffing; chewing and grooming them while they return the favor, until they hear the sound of the doorbell.

“Food, then run,” he reminds them hoarsely, grinning as the tightness in his throat eases until he feels like he can breathe again. Bob chuffs in agreement and Wade yips, their eyes shining brightly in the darkness as they step aside to let Mark lead the way.

\--

Between the three of them, the pizzas don't stand a chance. Mark had been too restless to eat before his packmates’ arrival, and they haven't eaten since before their flight. Mid-flight snacks, Wade has said multiple times, do not count as actual food. They tear into the pizzas ravenously, barely pausing to talk; Mark hardly chews his mouthfuls, and he wouldn't put it past Wade or Bob to be doing the same. He's not worried about how much he's eating, considering the amount of exercise the three of them are about to engage in. As far as he's concerned, if they're home before four in the morning, they're doing something wrong. Considering how long the three of them slept for, he's not worried about getting tired too soon.

In no time at all, the three large pizzas are reduced to a handful of slices and they're licking the grease from their fingers. “Phones,” Mark reminds them, licking the lingering taste of cheese and sauce from his lips. “Bathroom. Then we're going.”

“Sure thing, Alpha,” Wade mutters around the finger he's sucking clean. “Chica?”

“Stayin’ home.” Mark feeds her a few pieces of crust before letting her outside again, staying just inside the door this time and watching her while his packmates ready themselves for the trip. When it looks like she's become more interested in following scent trails than anything else, he whistles for her and steps out of the way so she can trot back into the kitchen.

“You be a good girl while we're gone,” he tells his happy pup, leaning down to give her nuzzles and kisses. When she licks his chin and whines softly, he licks between her ears and rumbles. “You are the goodest girl,” he promises, and that makes her tail wag harder.

When he looks up, his friends are wearing identical fond expressions. “Every pack needs pups,” Bob murmurs. “Cubs make everything better.”

“That responsibility falls on you two,” Mark teases. He grabs his keys and heads for the front door, anticipation singing through his veins until his fur prickles from the excitement. “We all know I'm too much of a mess for that.”

“You're also crushing harder than fuck on someone who doesn't really have the right parts,” Wade adds helpfully. When Mark glares back at him, his First gives him a toothy grin. “You know it's true.”

“You shut your pie hole,” Mark grumbles, but he can't help the warmth that spreads across his face or the way his lips twitch helplessly when he thinks of big blue eyes and a crooked grin.

He doesn't consider his crush on Jack to be pathetic; the Irishman has a great personality, and he's an incredible person. For all that Mark howls about being straight to his fans, it hasn't been uncommon for him to be interested in men in the past. Usually it's just a superficial thing, but Jack -- _Seán_ \-- is on a whole different level. Mark wants to know every facet of the younger man, every quirk and nuance of his personality. He wants to see him laugh and hold him when he cries; wants to groom him and run with him and howl at the moon with him, which is a dangerous thought to have about someone who's never shown any hint of being primal.

“He's just grumpy because it's true.” Bob sounds amused but not cruel; they pick on him, but he knows they just want him to be happy. It's why he lets their playful comments roll over him as they pile into the car, the three of them laughing and making fun of each other the entire way to the park. They become quieter the closer they get, conversation dying away in favor of eager silence. Mark licks his lips and whuffs when he sees the familiar trees and grass come into view, everything highlighted by the moon above them and sprawling invitingly until the night consumes it. Wade is whining and shifting in the passenger's seat beside him, his flip flops already kicked off and his muscles twitching as his humanity bleeds away. Behind them, Bob is breathing deeply, steadily, the sound almost too loud in the confines of the car.

Digging his nails into the steering wheel, Mark parks in the empty parking lot, the bumper right up against the grass. He claws his seatbelt off and tumbles out of the car, hiding the keys in the wheel well and breathing in the sweet night air. Panting, he turns to catch Wade’s eye across the roof of the car, his muscles tensing subtly when he sees the gleam in his packmate’s eyes. He rumbles, lifting his head, and Wade bares his teeth in a playful challenge before he bolts.

Scrambling out of his shoes, Mark takes off after his First, the grass slick and cool beneath his bare feet; the wind whipping through his hair and caressing his cheeks with a playfulness that is disappointingly absent when the sun rules the sky. He dodges the trees scattered across the park, a howl building in his throat that he keeps caught behind his teeth. Wade is bigger and broader than he is, but Mark is faster; skidding and switching directions with a speed his First cannot match.

The impact is satisfying on a primal level, deep in his instincts where the urge to hunt and chase and conquer rushes like an untamed river. It bubbles to the surface and tears free as a triumphant snarl when Mark slams into Wade from the left and sends them both tumbling to the ground. He recovers quicker than his packmate, pinning him until Wade uses his bigger bulk to roll them over. They writhe across the grass, snarling and snapping at each other as they play. It sounds far more violent than it is, considering that neither of them are causing any real damage to each other. They'll come out of this night with new bruises and probably a scrape or two, but that's not at all uncommon for them.

Wade tries to wriggle free and Mark bites at his bicep, nails digging into the bigger wolf's sides as he growls. His First snarls back and rolls them so that Mark is back on top, snapping at his face and trying to bring up his hind paws to kick him away. The Alpha wolf sinks his teeth in until he's just shy of drawing blood, holding on and grunting at the kick. Wade howls in pain and squirms harder, nearly knocking him away before Mark manages to adjust himself for a better hold.

They're so focused on grappling that they forget about Bob until the bear comes barreling into them. Mark gets tossed with a surprised yelp, tumbling ears over tail. Wade is barking and Bob is grunting and huffing, groaning at them and rearing up onto his hind paws to make himself look bigger and more threatening. Flipping over, Mark rises onto his hands and feet, lips curling back to bare gleaming teeth. Bob pulls his own lips back, swaying from paw to paw; moonlight catching in his messy curls and spilling across his shoulders. He looks wild and fierce, but there's no real threat imminent as his Second stares him down. He catches sight of Wade sneaking behind the bear and grins, his growl rumbling up from deep in his chest as he dances in place to keep Bob's attention.

When Wade bites at his bare calves, Bob makes a noise not unlike a roar and spins to face the bigger wolf. Mark takes his chance and darts forward, teeth snapping just shy of long fingers; ducking out of the way of the resulting swipe and slinking back around behind the bear while Wade darts in for another hit.

Together they duck and weave, biting and pawing and barking; taking a few swipes from a massive paw but getting right back up until Bob chuffs and finds an opening to get away. The wolves keep on him, weaving around each other as they chase him through the park. They all slide in the wet grass, feet and hands scrabbling for purchase; nails biting into the dirt for leverage for each leap and push. The farther from the road they get, the louder they let themselves become, inhibitions giving way to instincts. Mark finds a small hill at one point and throws his head back to howl. His packmates echo him, Wade’s melody twining with his more naturally than Bob's raspy yowl, but the song is the same; joyful and playful and _family_ , something he's been missing far too much. As the howl dies down, dissipating in the cool night air, Mark throws himself at Wade again and they go rolling into Bob with yips and puppyish growls, knocking the bear off balance and dragging him down the hill with them.

It's the most fun Mark has had in ages.

By the time they're panting and too sore to keep playing, the sky is starting to lighten and the birds are singing. They limp back to the car with identical grins stretched across their faces; streaked with dirt and covered in grass. Bob has a green stain across his cheek from when Wade tackled him down another hill. Mark can already feel a bruise forming along his side where Bob knocked him into a tree. He's panting and tired, but he feels like he can take on the world again rather than struggling to keep his head above water the way he has been.

“I'm so glad you guys came,” he rasps once they reach the car. The parking lot is still blessedly empty, but their window is closing; early morning joggers will start showing up soon, and they're going to stare if he and his packmates are still here when they do. He can't fully blame them -- they're a fucking mess. Running a hand through his wrecked hair, his fingers snag on tangles and knock free more grass and bits of leaves. “Think we should hook up with Ty and Ethan later? Maybe we can all play some Mario Kart.”

“I require sleep and pancakes before then,” Bob muses around a yawn. “Damn you wolves and your boundless energy. I'm not made for this shit.”

Wade knocks shoulders with the bear. “Sure you are. You wouldn't be here otherwise.”

Bob hums tiredly. “Point.”

“Showers, sleep, food?” Mark suggests after he grabs the keys and unlocks the doors.

“ _Pancakes_ ,” his Second stresses with feeling as they all climb in. “Those thick, fluffy ones you always make. With chocolate chips. And bananas.”

“And peanut butter?”

“You are a fucking heathen,” Wade gripes, but he looks content when Mark checks the rear view mirror, slouched in the backseat with his eyes hooded and his hands folded over his stomach. “Who the fuck puts peanut butter on pancakes?”

“Millions of people,” Mark retorts dryly. “Stop bitching and maybe I'll make some goetta too.”

He can see Wade eyeing him in his periphery. “And bacon.”

“What am I, fucking Denny's?”

“No,” Bob whines past a yawn. “You're our Markimoo. And also Alpha. So feed us.”

“Alpha eats first, you know,” he grumbles, making his way through the streets toward home, but there's no heat in his voice. Even if he tried to sound snappy, his grin would make a liar out of him.

“Maybe,” Wade mumbles, and he sounds half asleep already. “But you always feed your pack first.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees quietly, watching the sky turn pink as the sun rises and the city wakes up around them. It looks different in the light of day. Less wild and mysterious. Or maybe that's just him. “Yeah, I do.”


	2. Slipping Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never in my life been to a convention, so please forgive the glaring inaccuracies you are probably bound to find. I triiiieeeeddddd.
> 
> YAY IT'S JACK'S POV THIS TIME WHEEEEE
> 
> ENJOY~

Jack leans back in his seat and closes his eyes tightly. He doesn't mind heights as much when he's flying, but it's still not a comfortable feeling to be contained in a finite space and surrounded by people eating, talking, sleeping; most of them are breathing so _loudly_. Not to mention the babies crying and the children bawling because they're overtired and they want to run around. He grits his teeth when a little girl starts throwing a truly impressive tantrum a few rows behind him, his ears pinned back and his nails digging into his armrests.

 _Twenty more minutes_ , he thinks with hopeful desperation. _Just twenty more minutes and I'm there_.

It’ll all be worth it in the end. The excitement of PAX is what keeps him from snapping at the closest complainer, his molars grinding together and a headache pounding across his temples. When the announcement is made that they’re preparing to land, he buckles himself in with shaking fingers and breathes slowly; the deep, even breaths of someone trying to stave off a panic attack. He’s really trying not to bite someone, his hackles bristling with each jostle from the bodies around him. The woman beside him has been blessedly quiet the entire trip, fixating on her book after minimal pleasantries exchanged between them. Jack has been bouncing between his music and Twitter, doing his best to keep himself distracted, but as the hours wore on he found it harder to do so. Now the end is in sight, the promise of touching down on American soil making him impatient. Between the prospect of seeing his friends and spending a few days surrounded by fans at PAX, he’s ready to claw his way out of the tiny window and jump the rest of the way to the ground just to be done with the plane ride.

Half an hour later, he’s finally claiming his suitcase from the baggage belt and dragging it behind him toward the exit, a new ache in his jaw to match his throbbing headache as he winds his way through the throngs of people; he's heading for the doors as quickly as he can. His phone has been vibrating nonstop for the last ten minutes, a myriad of texts from Mark and Ethan that makes him smile as he feeds off their infectious enthusiasm. With every demand from the red-haired YouTuber to know where he is and when he’s coming, Jack’s stomach twists and flutters. He licks his lips and whines quietly to himself, the week stretching out ahead of him full with the promise of wrestling and careful and careless touches alike. Mark has always been a tactile person, keeping Jack close and laying hands on him as often as he can, both around fans and in the privacy of hotel rooms and his home.

It’s enough to drive anyone up the wall, especially someone like Jack, who’s been harboring his pathetic little crush since he first found Mark’s YouTube channel. He’s made no secret of his admiration, and the fact that they’re friends still sends him reeling every time he’s extended an offer to join in with Mark, Bob and Wade for a collaboration. It’s happened so often in the last few months that he’s riding an almost constant high from the excitement of it. And now he’s going to see them in person at PAX; he’s staying for a little over a week at their request, just so they can all hang out and have fun back at Mark's place once the convention is over.

_Where the fuck are you Jackaboy??_

Mark has the eager impatience of a child, demanding and greedy and still capable of being so fucking sweet that it makes his toes curl. Juggling his phone and his suitcase handle, Jack texts back quickly and tries not to think about the stupid grin that’s probably taking up his face.

_Leaving now, calm your tits._

Marks reply is almost instantaneous.

_WHERE?_

“Oh my fuckin’ god,” he whispers, shaking his head and smiling impossibly wider. _I’m at the front entrance, Jesus fuck. I’ll be at the hotel soon._

“I SEE YOU!”

That’s all the warning Jack gets before someone crashes into his side. He almost drops his phone in shock, barely holding onto the corner with two fingers as he’s wrapped in stupidly strong arms and hugged so tightly his ribs creak in protest. He doesn’t have to guess who he’s smashed against, because he’d recognize that stupid Hawaiian print shirt anywhere -- that and the glimpse of red bangs he gets before his face is shoved into the crook of Mark’s neck and he’s letting go of his luggage to hug back as tightly as he can. Neither of them say anything for a moment, just breathing and grinning as people part around them like they're rocks in a river. Jack scents the older man subtly, smelling his cologne and sweat and the natural musk that hides just underneath.

“Yer drawin’ attention,” he finally mumbles, even though he can barely lift his head enough to see past Mark’s shirt collar. He’s too content, the stress of the flight leeching away as his tense muscles relax and he leans a little more against the taller man. Mark takes his weight without hesitation, giving him another solid squeeze.

“Don’t care,” Mark rumbles -- legitimately fucking _rumbles_ \-- and Jack has to strangle the urge to rumble back; maybe lick the man’s neck before he finally pulls away, because there’s a big difference between  sharing affection with your friends and _licking_ them. Mark can and will put up with a hell of a lot, Jack has found out in their years of friendship, but he highly doubts the Asian man would be okay with that kind of affection. Non-Therians generally aren’t.

“Thought ya were gonna meet me at th’ hotel?”

The man grins sheepishly, brown eyes twinkling beneath the red fringe of his bangs. He rubs his neck and shrugs before reaching over to grab Jack’s suitcase. “Yeah, well, I got impatient. Gotta spend as much time as I can with my Jackaboy, don't I? Before you’re gone again and all I get is your pretty face on my screen.”

“See, it’s that kind’a shit that makes the Septiplier fans go rabid.” Shaking his head, Jack pockets his phone and follows his friend through the doors, letting Mark lead the way toward the parking lot. He feels like prancing, his ears perked and his tail wagging so hard it's a wonder it hasn't come off. He’s so happy he could howl, and that will definitely attract attention. It would also raise more questions than he knows how to answer.

There’s barking when you’re being a goofball on a video, and then there’s howling without provocation in an airport parking lot full of strangers.

Mark sets his suitcase beside the trunk of the rental car and cups his hand around his mouth. Jack only has a split second to realize what’s happening before the man screams, “ _Septiplier_ _away_!” at the top of his lungs. He tackles him against the car, laughing so hard his face hurts as he tries and fails to cover his friend’s mouth.

“Mark, no, stop it, oh my god!”

“I love Seán McLoughlin with all my heart!” Mark screeches through his fingers, laughing so hard his entire body is shaking and he can barely get the words out. They're definitely attracting attention now, heads turning toward the commotion from all around the parking lot.

“I fuckin’ swear, Mark!” Jack hisses through his giggles. “Stop it! Yer gonna get us fuckin’ arrested!”

Just like that, Mark stops laughing. He lurches forward and drags Jack into another crushing hug, nose pressed into his acid-green hair. He feels the broad chest against his rise when the man inhales and hides his face to cover the color he can feel prickling across his cheeks.

“I've missed you,” the older YouTuber murmurs after a moment.

“We just played Prop Hunt a week ago,” Jack snorts. It doesn't keep him from holding on tightly, his tail swaying; he swears he feels something brush against his legs, but when he glances down there's nothing in sight.

“Not the same and you know it,” Mark complains into the hair above his ear. “I can't do this through a computer, and I _need_ Jackaboy hugs. They're, like, life-giving and shit.”

“You need to sleep off that jetlag.” The words warm him to his core even as he tries to play it off. “And _I_ need food. Let's get this show on the road, man. We can cuddle later.”

“Promise?” Mark whispers directly into his ear, his voice rumbling and intense. It's completely fucking unfair, because Mark knows what that voice does to people, and whether he knows it or not, Jack is not unaffected when he talks like that.

“Sure thing,” he agrees, suppressing the urge to nip and nudge and entice his friend into playing. He wants to roll and tussle, his tiredness from the long fight somewhat subdued by the prospect of food and fun. “In bed, with pillows and blankets and shit. I don't care; just fuckin’ feed me, before I start chewin’ on _you_.”

“Promises, promises.” Mark's voice drops even lower, shivering across Jack's nerves in the most pleasing of ways. God, but that voice is pure sin and dark promises all wrapped in one of the most attractive packages he's ever seen in his life. More than that though, Mark is just such a good fucking person that it shouldn't be _allowed_. He'll give someone a place to stay or the shirt off his back in a heartbeat, no questions asked. At the same time, Jack knows there's something else in there; something darker that makes him _want_ with a ferocity he's not accustomed to feeling for someone, let alone another man.

It's not the fact that he's got a crush on his friend. It's the fact that it's _Mark_ , and Jack wants the thrill of a good chase. He wants someone who can run him down and pin him, someone _worthy_ , and if Mark could give him that, then Jack would run in a heartbeat just to see the American come tearing after him. It would be an _honor_ to be pinned beneath that bulk, bitten and taken like an animal in the dirt.

“Jack?”

Mark's voice, quiet and tinged with concern, snaps him out of the fantasy. He blinks and turns to look at the man, grunting in confusion.

“Wassat?”

The man brushes his bangs out of his eyes with a crooked grin and gestures out the front windshield. “We're here. Damn, you zoned out pretty hard there for a bit. You gonna make it through dinner at this rate?”

Fuck, he can't even remember the last leg of the drive. Had he been silent, lost in his churning desires the whole time? Mark will probably chalk it up to being jetlagged, thank fuck, but it still sends a spasm of guilt through his gut. He's been looking forward to seeing Mark and the rest of his friends for _months,_ and he's already wasted a chunk of time fantasizing about things that can never happen. Sure, Mark has his quirks. Some of his videos have made Jack wonder, but he's never seen anything when they've been face-to-face that could possibly hint at his friend having a drop of the wild in his blood the way Jack does.

“Food,” he grumbles, climbing out of the car and going to the trunk to drag his suitcase out. “Lemme get checked in and shower off th’ fuckin’ plane, and then you'd better feed me.”

“So demanding,” Mark teases, but he sounds pleased about it rather than annoyed. He knows Jack is just playing with him; he'll buy his own meals rather than letting anyone do it for him, unless it's the man beside him. Mark is the only one who gets away with it; he won't let Jack spend a cent if he has his way, and no matter how much Jack might argue, Mark almost always gets his way.

“Ya love it,” he snipes, throwing a wolfish grin over his shoulder.

“You have no idea.”

God damn that fucking _voice_. Maybe it's the fact that he hasn't slid into his wolf skin much lately, but it's sending tremors through Jack that make him want to pounce. He can't tell if he wants to play or bite more; offer his tail only to snap and growl in the hopes of evoking the reaction he's eager for. At least he's facing away from Mark, so the man can't see the pink tint staining his cheeks.

“Yer a menace today,” he accuses playfully. “Save some of that fer PAX, why don't ya?”

“Plenty more where this came from, Jackaboy. I've got months to make up for; might as well get an early start.” Mark sounds so cheerful, and no matter what it does to Jack when he gets flirty and teasing, he's still happy to see this side of Mark. A few months ago he was worried that the older man was reaching his limit, at least until Bob and Wade intervened. Now he's back to his usual bubbly self, and the relief is almost crushing.

Souls like Mark's should never be burdened by pain and suffering. They should only have the best in life. Jack's Ma always used to say that those who smile the brightest were the ones who suffered the most, they just did their best to keep anyone else from having to experience that kind of pain. It definitely fits Mark's M.O., as far as Jack can tell, and it makes him want to be one of the reasons Mark smiles. He wants to bring that joy back to his friend, because he more than deserves it.

“Missed ya, boo,” he whispers while they're waiting for the elevator. Mark's answering grin could rival the brightness of the sun; Jack feels no shame in basking in its warmth for a moment.

“Missed you too, Seán.”

\--

“Out of all the options we have, you want room service.”

Jack nods, his damp bangs sticking to his forehead. “I've been around too many people today,” he gripes, sinking into Mark's bed with a quiet groan. It's piled high with both his and the American's blankets and pillows, because Jack dragged his back with him after he was clean and changed. He's made them a nice thick nest to sprawl in, his bare legs covered by a thin sheet and at least two pillows stuffed behind his back to prop him up. “You said you'd feed me,” he adds, deliberately making his voice high and whiny just to watch Mark's face twist incredulously.

“You're not actually a toddler,” his friend huffs, but he's already reaching for the phone.

“I'll be whatever ya want me ta be if it'll get some fuckin’ food in me sooner.” Jack isn't usually this bitchy, but he's tired and he's hungry; it's been too many hours since his last proper meal. Snacks on a plane are shit, in his opinion, and even if he'd eaten something during the flight, it wouldn't have been enough. He's ready to start chewing on Mark's leg at this point. He may start growling and snapping his teeth soon, which might be even worse. When he still lived at home, his Ma would smack his nose with a wooden spoon when he'd get like this; she’d tell him that if he was going to act like a greedy pup, then she was going to treat him like one. She's always been an Alpha who believed strongly in manners and respect, and she raised her pups to believe the same. As her youngest, she gave him a bit of leeway, but not enough to let him become a terror.

One of the things Jack misses most about being home is having his family pack so close. Even after his older siblings moved out, they never went far, and Ma had everyone over once a week for a playful gathering. It was always very important that they never suppressed their wild blood for long, or it led to problems. She drilled that into their skulls from the time they were squirming pups, and it's one lesson Jack has always tried to stick to.

Maybe that's why he's struggling with it now; he's too far from home and usually too busy to make it to family days, and of late he's never managed to find the time to run the way he needs to. It makes him itchy and uncomfortable, like his skin doesn't fit right. He can feel his wolf just beneath the surface, shifting restlessly and growing worse the longer he waits.

“You really are out of it, huh?”

Mark's voice pulls him back like a beacon until he's laser-focused on the man across from him. “Shit, m'sorry. What did yeh ask?”

“What are you hungry for?” Mark is leaning closer, watching him with a worried frown. “If you wanna eat and split, Jack, it's okay. You clearly need sleep, no matter how much I know you'd rather waste your time with me.”

“This is not fuckin’ wasted time,” Jack argues. “Yeh know it isn't.” When Mark merely raises his eyebrows and waits, the Irishman sighs. “Burger and fries, with a side of ‘yer a fuckin’ doof.’”

“Comin’ right up,” his friend says sweetly. Jack rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, grumbling to himself while Mark rattles off their order to whoever is on the other end of the phone. As soon as it's back on the cradle, he leans out of the nest and snags the other man's sleeve to drag him closer.

“C’mere, ya fuck,” he huffs, pleased when Mark lets himself be pulled onto the bed with a chuckle. As soon as he bounces into place Jack is on him, clinging like an octopus and yawning in his ear. “Hope ya don't mind,” he mumbles. “Was a long fuckin’ flight.”

Mark scoffs. “It's like you don't know me at all.” He turns so he can wrap his arms around Jack and pull him closer, and the younger man sinks against him with a happy sigh.

“Fuckin’ radiator, you are,” he mumbles into Mark's collar. “So fuckin’ warm.”

Mark laughs quietly against his temple. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

Jack yawns widely, keeping his tongue in his mouth with effort. “Nah. Just makin’ noise. When's yer first panel t’morrow?” His accent thickens so much when he's too tired to control his voice, but thankfully Mark has never had trouble following the rolling flow of his brogue. It makes Jack feel comfortable enough to slip and slide more often when it's just the two of them.

“Nine. Yours?” Long fingers comb through his hair until Jack is boneless, his eyes too heavy to keep open; not that he's trying very hard anyway. He can't remember the last time someone who wasn't family groomed him. He doubts that's what Mark would consider it, but Jack can't help himself sometimes.

“Ten-t’irty. Gonna sit in on it?”

“Always. Gonna be at mine?”

“Wouldn't fuckin’ miss it. You wit’ Bob first?”

“Mhm.” Mark's chest vibrates against his with every word, relaxing Jack further until he feels like he's about to become one with the mattress. “Yours a solo?”

“Mmm. Then it's yers wit’ Bob an’ Wade.”

“Those are always fun,” Mark muses.

“Unless yer Wade,” Jack mumbles. Even his laugh sounds slow and thick with exhaustion. “Thanks fer, y'know, not thinkin’ this is weird.” He tries to gesture lazily to encompass them and the bed they're curled up together on, but he's so tired that his hand just drops uselessly over Mark's hip.

“Takes a lot more than this, Jackaboy, I promise you.” A hand rubs across the back of his head, nails scratching gently over his scalp, and Jack groans.

“Fuckin’ magic fingers,” he moans, pushing his head back for more and closing his eyes. Even as tired as he is, he keeps his chin down to guard his throat. He might trust Mark with almost everything, but that's a level of vulnerability that he's not willing to show when he's this tired, even to family.

Mark laughs, so quiet it's more like a rumble that buzzes against Jack's skin. “Only for you, boo.”

“Liar,” he grumbles with a playful grin, cracking one blue eye open to meet twinkling brown. “I bet ya say that ta all th’ boys an’ girls.”

“You wound me. I am _wounded_.” His friend pouts at him before it melts away into another soft expression. “Sleep, Jack. I'll wake you up when the food gets here, okay?”

“‘Kay." It's hard to find reasons to argue right now, so he doesn't bother trying; he just closes his eyes and snuggles a little closer, letting the feel of fingertips dragging over his scalp lure him down into peaceful dreams.

Mark, true to his word, wakes him up so that Jack can eat. Once his belly is full, he falls right back to sleep with one of Mark's strong arms wrapped around him while his friend scrolls through his Twitter feed, looking like there's nowhere else he'd rather be. It's a look that follows Jack back into sleep, painting his dreams with a warm glow that he soaks up like a sponge. Mark's warmth reminds him of sunlight against his pale fur, the feeling of belonging swelling in his chest.

It's the best sleep he's had in a long time.

\--

Mark is gracious enough to wake Jack early in the morning to shoo him back to his own room so he can get ready in time. He stands just inside the doorway, yawning and knuckling the sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry I fell asleep on ya,” he mutters groggily, feeling warm and relaxed and blissfully content. “Yeh should’ve kicked me out last night.”

“And miss a prime cuddling opportunity like that?” Mark scoffs at him. “As if. You're too goddamn adorable when you're sleeping. As cuddly as a puppy.”

“I am not Chica,” he huffs, glaring to cover up the nervous twist through his stomach at the words. He hadn't gone too far, had he? Would Mark mention it if he'd done something strange?

“No, you are not,” the older man agrees cheerfully. “Chica licks in her sleep. You just snuggle. It's hard to say which I prefer more.” He mimes looking thoughtful, a finger pressed to his chin, and Jack snorts.

“Guess I should go get changed.” Shaking his head when Mark immediately pouts, Jack gathers up his mess of blankets and pillows and escapes to his cool, empty room before he finds more reasons to stay.

“See you soon!” Mark whisper-yells after him, his brown eyes dancing with mirth. Jack grins and shuts his door, shivering from the forced air and the lack of another body to keep him warm.

“I'm so fucked,” he tells his door solemnly, but there's nothing he can do about it right now. He just has to keep his wolf at bay for a little longer, until the week is over and he can flee back to his family den; tail between his legs in preparation for the scolding he already knows he's going to get from his Ma for keeping himself contained for so long.

Jack rushes through his morning routine, toothbrush hanging from his mouth while he digs out his outfit for the day, the taste of the toothpaste making his tongue tingle. He gargles and spits once his teeth are brushed, rinsing his mouth out and cramming his feet into his shoes just in time for someone to knock on his door.

It's Wade, which he wasn't expecting, but he still grins and gives the bigger man an enthusiastic hug without hesitation. He grins wider when it's returned just as enthusiastically. “How the fuck have ya been?” he asks once they step apart. “I wondered when I was gonna see yer ugly mug.”

“Ha, ha.” Wade rolls his eyes, but he looks mischievous enough that Jack leans away warily. “I actually saw you last night,” he mentions, grinning like a shark. “You might not remember, though. You were too busy snoring and drooling on Mark's shoulder.”

Jack shoves his friend back out into the hall with an indignant noise. “I do _not_ snore!” Oh, God, _Wade_ had seen that? He's the type to tease mercilessly about anything that makes someone uncomfortable, even if he's kind-hearted enough to keep most of it away from the fans.

 _Most_ of it.

Wade must see the dread on his face, because his smile softens into something gentler. “Hey, man, no judgement here. Mark's got this crazy ability to just put someone to sleep. Trust me, I've been there. Bob has too. It's just always funnier when it's someone else.”

“Are you bothering Jack, Wade?” Mark's voice comes from directly behind Jack, which scares the daylights out of him. He whips around to stare at the other YouTuber, wondering how he managed to sneak up on them so easily, but Mark isn't looking at him. He's too busy narrowing his eyes at Wade.

“Me?” Wade does his best to look innocent, but the act is ruined by his wide smirk. “I would never. I was just asking him if he slept well after his flight.”

Mark looms a little more, looking too damn good for words. Jack swallows when one strong arm wraps around his shoulders and pulls him back against Mark's chest protectively.

“You mind your own business, heathen,” he grumbles, which just makes Wade laugh. Jack rests his head on Mark's shoulder and looks up at him, arching an eyebrow.

“Someone's testy this mornin’,” he muses. “Should we feed th’ beast before he mauls some unsuspecting fans?”

“Yes,” Mark huffs. “I demand food. Feed me or suffer the consequences!” The American bites at Jack's shoulder, growling theatrically, and he retaliates by smacking the man on the nose hard enough to make Mark let go with an overdramatic yelp.

“Abuse!” he wails, which just makes them laugh at the way he's cradling his nose and trying to glare with watery eyes. “See if I cuddle you at all for the rest of the trip!” he spits at Jack, the words muffled behind his palms.

“Aww, boo, don't be like that!” Jack throws his arms around Mark, forcing him to catch the Irishman and support his weight or risk them falling over. “You know you're my favorite, Markimoo!”

“It's a bit early to be stirring up the Septiplier fans, don't you think?” Bob calls from down the hallway. Tyler and Ethan are following behind him, the latter still rubbing the sleep from his eyes while Tyler watches them with an unreadable expression on his face. Jack lets go of Mark and turns to wave, ignoring the dismayed noise the red-haired man makes upon losing his leech. As much as he’d like to turn around and hang off of his friend for the rest of the day, if not the rest of the next week, Jack knows that he can’t. Between his lingering jetlag and the anticipation churning in his stomach at the thought of several days surrounded by fans and strangers, he’s feeling a little more clingy than usual. To top it off, with his wolf so close to the surface, he’s more on edge than he would be otherwise. It’s all combining to make one hell of a mess in his head, but being around his friends helps. He just needs to stay close to them as much as he can. Considering how many panels he shares with most of them, it shouldn’t be a problem.

It’ll be fine. It has to be.

“Let’s get some fuckin’ food now that ya lazy fucks are here.” Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Jack looks at each of them and can’t help but feed off of their growing excitement. Even Tyler, the most stoic and quiet of their little group, has a gleam in his eyes that is usually absent. He catches Jack’s eye and winks, which makes the Irishman grin wider.

“Off we go then,” Mark decides, and the rest of them fall in behind him as naturally as breathing, Wade at his left shoulder and Bob at his right. Jack sticks close to Ethan, bumping shoulders with the younger man and enjoying his sleepy chuckle.

“You ready for this?” he asks quietly. Ethan gives him two thumbs up and a crooked grin.

“Born ready, baby,” he crows. Behind them, Tyler snorts quietly.

“Bring it on, then.” Jack catches Mark glancing back at them and gives him both middle fingers just to see him throw his head back and laugh. “Let the madness begin.”

\--

There’s no getting around it -- PAX is fucking loud. It’s the loudest confined space Jack has ever been in; Disneyland wasn’t even this bad, but that was an amusement park. There’s people literally everywhere he turns, most of them fans eager to meet him, and it still boggles his mind that so many people know who he is. YouTube has been an incredible adventure for him; more than he ever dreamed of getting. Fans both young and old constantly want to tell him how he’s inspired them. _Him_. He swears way too much and he’s hyper enough for at least three people, but _he_ inspired _them_. They’re the true miracle workers, as far as he’s concerned, and to see their joy at getting to meet someone like him is invigorating and humbling simultaneously.

He tries to talk to as many as he can before Mark’s panel; during it, he’s more focused on goofing off just to make the man laugh and lose his train of thought. At one point, Mark even drags him up onto the stage -- literally drags him, although Jack doesn’t put up much of a struggle if he’s being honest. They pick on each other for a few minutes, Mark acts like he doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself, and then Jack escapes back into the audience amongst the eager screeches of the Septiplier fans.

“Get back here!” Mark hollers after him. Bob is laughing like a hyena, ignoring Mark’s howls for help in securing Jack.

“Bob, help me! He has to be shown the way!”

“You’ll never win, Markimoo!” Jack screams from the sea of laughing people, a beanie pulled down over his green hair to help hide him better. “Septiplier is dead!”

“Never!” several of the fans scream back.

“The fans have spoken!” Mark roars, his arms thrown up in the victory pose and his smile blinding even from so far away. “Get back up here and accept my love!”

Jack is laughing so hard his cheeks hurt. “I’ll never be your boyfriend!” he shrieks, but he doesn’t fight the eager hands that reach for him. He struggles playfully as he’s pushed back toward the stage, but if he wanted to get away, then he’d already be gone. A few rambunctious hands wander a little too far to be appropriate, palms smoothing across his hips and lower, and each one makes Jack move a little quicker toward the safety of the stage and his friends.

“I knew you loved me,” Mark rumbles into his microphone, letting his voice drop into that lower range that drives all of his subscribers -- and Jack -- into a frenzy.

“Only you, boo,” Jack simpers, batting his eyelashes and puffing out his lower lip in a pout. Mark’s eyes flash in response, something he isn’t expecting, and one big hand reaches down to grab him again. Jack waits until Mark is smirking, his victory seemingly assured, and then he slips free of the hands pushing him forward and lunges for the center aisle, cackling as he bolts from the room with Mark’s shouts following him.

“Get back here, you little shit!”

“Better luck next time!” he calls over his shoulder, and then he’s ducking and weaving through the crowds of people moving from panel to panel, cutting across the main vendor area and slipping through one of the doors that lead to a panelist-only lounge. It's basically a large break room with snacks and drinks laid out for them; plush chairs to relax in and tables to eat at. Jack grabs a bottle of water and curls up on one of the chairs, giggling to himself as he catches his breath. There's still some time left in Mark's panel, which means he should be heading toward his own soon, but he lets himself catch his breath and calm down for a few minutes. There's no one else in the room, so Jack doesn't bother trying to hide his happy whine or the way he wiggles like an excited puppy; letting his wolf have a quick glimpse of freedom before he's up and moving again; pushing his instincts down and doing his best to shrug off the resulting discomfort.

By ten-twenty, he's in place and ready to have some fun. The room is packed with people just like during Mark's panel, which blows his mind all over again when he realizes that they're all here to see him be his typical goofball self. That isn't a difficult task for Jack; he jumps onto the stage as soon as he's announced and throws his arms up, hollering his infamous intro as loud as he can.

“Top of the mornin’ to ya, laddies! My name is Jacksepticeye and welcome to PAX East!”

Half of the audience hollers along with him, and they high-five almost in time when he slaps a hand against thin air.

“How are we all doin’ t’day? I'm feelin’ like a fuckin’ _boss_!”

Of course, Jack knows better than to expect his panel to cruise by without any interlopers; Ethan and Mark crash it not even twenty minutes in. The blue-haired boy does flips the entire way down the aisle, stopping just in front of the stage and striking a pose for the cheering audience. Mark saunters in at a much more relaxed pace, a black cloth bag bearing his signature pink mustache swinging from the crook of one arm and a smirk curling across his lips.

“Hey there, Jackaboy,” he calls with a toothy grin. “You're lookin’ a bit lonely up there.”

“Then get th’ fuck up here and give me some company,” Jack fires back. His friends waste no time doing just that, much to the delight of the audience. The three of them end up playing Cards Against Humanity and answering questions. Jack talks for a bit about some of his upcoming projects, he thanks them all again and again for giving him so much incredible support, and Ethan challenges him to an accent contest -- which Jack, naturally, wins.

Things go to shit while the panel is winding down. Ethan is goofing off near the edge of the stage and one of the fans gets a little too eager. They rush forward and grab at his leg, knocking him off balance, and he falls forward with a startled shout. Jack is moving before he's even thought about it, lunging across the space between them and curling his body around his younger friend; heaving him back and losing his own footing from the added weight. They tumble back in a tangle of limbs, hitting the unforgiving floor hard. Jack yelps when he cracks the back of his head against the wood and bites his tongue, tasting blood immediately. Ethan elbows him in the ribs in his scramble to try and keep from crushing anything vital and Jack whines through bloody teeth, his jaw clenched and his lips pulled back.

“Fuck, Jack, fuck, I'm so sorry!” Ethan is babbling, gentle fingers skittering across his cheeks and palpating his scalp. He snaps at them without thinking, his growl quiet and pained, and then there are shadows blocking out the painfully bright lights as Mark and Tyler appear. He squints up at them and licks his lips; grimaces quickly at the taste of blood before he tries for a smile.

“Well, that fuckin’ hurt,” he rasps. He catches the look on Mark's face and tries to sit up, only to be pushed back down by Ethan. “Why the long face, boo? Ya look like someone pissed in yer O’s of good cheer.”

“You scared the _shit_ out of me,” Mark breathes, his expression tight with mingled worry and anger. “What the hell, Jack?”

“What, yeh wanted me ta let Ethan fall?” Batting the boy's frantic hands away, Jack sits up with a groan and lets Tyler pull him to his feet. The auditorium is empty; security must have cleared everyone out. Jack pouts. “Aw, but I still had, like, fifteen minutes left. I hope they aren't too upset.” He ignores Mark's incredulous look and gingerly rubs the back of his head. “Good t'ing we've got a break between panels though, yeah? I'm a fuckin’ mess.” There's blood on his chin and splattered down his shirt; he looks like an extra in a zombie movie, minus the decaying flesh.

“Let the medics look at you,” Mark insists, but Jack waves him off with a huffed laugh.

“I bit my tongue, dude, relax. Nothin’ a bit of ice and some pain meds won't fix. Just lemme get squared up and we can go for lunch.”

“You might have a _concussion_ ,” the bigger man stresses. He looks half wild, like he can't decide if he wants to check Jack over himself or hunt down the fan responsible. It's a little intense, even for him.

Reaching out, Jack grips his bicep and squeezes gently. “Mark, _relax_. I'm fine, trust me. I've had way worse. Just lemme go get changed, okay?”

“I'll go with him,” Ethan offers instantly. “It was my fault,” he adds when Jack opens his mouth to argue. “At least let me make sure you get back to the hotel okay. Please?”

Ethan is more dangerous than a puppy sometimes. He's so endearingly earnest and eager to please. It's impossible for most people to say no to him, and Jack is no exception when those big eyes turn on him hopefully. “Fine,” he sighs. “Give me, like, t’irty minutes,” he says to Mark before the older man can throw a fit. “If I'm not back by then, ya can drag me to the medics yerself. I swear ta ya that I'm _fine_ , but I know you.”

“Deal,” Mark agrees instantly. He steps closer, looking uncharacteristically hesitant as he reaches out. “Just let me…”

His thumb is warm and slightly rough against Jack's chin, dragging just down alongside his beard and coming away red. “Blood,” his friend explains needlessly. “Everywhere. We might need to hose you down, Jackaboy. You look like you killed something with just your teeth.”

“Maybe I did,” Jack says mock-haughtily. “I am, after all, the boss.” He bares them for emphasis, and if he didn't know any better, he'd say that Mark's lip curls back before he catches himself.

“You sure are,” he deadpans, so perfectly genuine that Jack is sure he's just imagining things -- entirely possible, with how hard he hit his head. “Now get gone, before I change my mind.”

Jack gives him a quick salute and snaps his heels together. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Ethan laughs when Mark rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, looking like he's praying for patience. Tyler is still watching Jack, his eyes dark and unreadable. Probing. It's not a look he's accustomed to receiving, so Jack looks away quickly and tries to ignore the uneasy shiver that piercing stare sends through him.

“C’mon, Ethan,” he murmurs. “Let's go, before we run into anymore excitement.”

He can feel Tyler's eyes burning into his back as he follows Ethan out through the side door, but he doesn't look back. Mostly because if he has to see Mark looking like a kicked puppy any longer, he really will snap and lick the older YouTuber’s face until that expression is wiped from existence.

Keeping his eyes focused on Ethan’s mop of blue hair, Jack lets the door swing shut behind them, cutting off the temptation to glance back at the two silent, somber men watching them walk away.

\--

There’s a knock on the door not even five minutes after Jack finally coaxes Ethan to leave. “It’s open!” he calls from where he’s tucked away in the bathroom, wiping the last smudges of drying blood from his face and chest. His shirt is soaking in cold water in the sink, a trick he learned from his Ma to help get blood out of clothes. When he hears the door shut, he drops his washrag on the counter and leans out to see who’s stepped into the room. He’s expecting Mark, in all honesty, so it’s a bit of a surprise when he finds Tyler staring back at him.

“I had ta swear ta Ethan that I would text someone if I thought I was going to die in the next fifteen minutes. Tell me he hasn’t sent yeh to check for a pulse anyway.”

Tyler huffs quietly, his lips twitching. “Not here to check for a pulse,” he promises. Jack watches him prowl further into the room, his hackles bristling and his ears flicking back. There's something about the way his friend is moving; each step silent and fluid in a way that makes Jack think _hunting_ and _danger_. Despite his size, Tyler is surprisingly graceful when he moves. This is different than that. He can't put a claw on it, but it's not normal Tyler behavior.

“I'm fine, y'know. Mark is just a fuckin’ mother hen about shit. Gimme a bit and I’ll-”

“It's okay, Jack,” the stoic man interrupts. He tilts his head to the side, and Jack can almost see rounded ears flicking forward; the twitch of a long, thin tail. “It's okay.”

His mouth dries in an instant, heart pounding and throat clicking when he swallows. It doesn't have to mean anything, it could just be a gentle reassurance, but Tyler's eyes are _knowing_ as they pin him in place, ripping past his defenses to where he's baring his teeth in a show of nerves beneath his human skin.

The silence stretches between them, loaded with tension and potential. Eventually, he manages to get out a quiet, rasped, “When?”

Tyler comes a little closer, a sound not unlike a purr rumbling in his throat. Low. Soothing. “When you fell. Ethan was trying to check you over. I saw you bite at him, and I heard you growl.”

Jack chews his lip and tries to calm his breathing. Its been a long time since he let anyone outside of his family know. The risk was always more than he was willing to take. And to slip up on stage at _PAX_ , of all places… _Fuck_. “Anyone else?”

Tyler understands what he's trying to say easily. “Mark was helping direct the fans out. Only Ethan and I saw, and we won't tell anyone. It's not our place.”

His legs feel too weak to hold him up, but Jack isn't about to give the predator across from him anymore leverage, friend or not. The wolf lifts his head higher, spreading his feet to brace himself and watching the subtle ways Tyler adjusts his own stance, his body language staying neutral and relaxed.

Trying to find some common ground, he forces himself to relax as well and smiles. He trusts Tyler when he says he won't tell anyone; they're not the same, but in a way, they are. Enough to share a common goal, if nothing else. Having someone who _gets it_ is enough to leave him feeling giddy as his anxiety winds down, and the instinctive lurch of fear fades to excitement. “I'm a wolf,” he offers, extending the olive branch and hoping, _begging_ , that it isn't used against him.

Tyler accepts it without hesitation. “Mountain lion,” he replies. It makes perfect sense, when Jack thinks about it. Certain facets of Tyler's personality suddenly take on a whole new meaning. He's so excited that he squirms in place, and Tyler smirks knowingly. No matter the species, some actions are universal.  “I think you're a bit too banged up to wrestle, don't you?”

“Fuck nah,” Jack huffs. His head hurts, but he's tussled with his siblings covered in worse bumps and bruises. The anticipation of getting to play at all is enough to outweigh his desire for caution. “Why, yeh gonna put me through the wall?”

“I think the hotel might frown at that, just a little,” his friend retorts, as dry as the desert. “What with the destruction of property and all.”

“We'll be careful,” he compromises. “There's not enough room to go all out anyway.”

Tyler shakes his head, but he looks fond. “You sound like such a pup. How long has it even been for you?”

Jack groans. “Way too fuckin’ long, you have no idea. Please, man? Just a little bit? I've been goin’ out of my fuckin’ _mind_.” When those calculating eyes narrow at him, he wiggles and gives his best puppy eyes. Ethan isn't the only one with a secret weapon, after all.

It works like a charm. “Alright, _alright_ ,” the taller man groans. “But just for a little bit. No cheap shots, either. And if I see any hint of pain from you, we stop. Sound good?”

“ _Yes_.” Jack doesn't wait to see if there's any more rules and stipulations; shit like that doesn't belong in play anyway. It belongs in the human world, where human morals and judgements reign. Here, in the world of his wolf, his instincts rule. The wild in his blood _sings_ as he lunges at Tyler, who dodges easily before vaulting across his bed. Jack huffs out an annoyed growl and spins to face the mountain lion, baring his teeth in challenge. Tyler hisses quietly, his fingers curled into claws and flexing against the blankets.

He's debating the best way to get to the other creature when Tyler leaps again. He's much bigger than Jack, but he hits him lightly, twisting to send them tumbling onto the bed. Jack gets a mouthful of his friend's shirt and hangs on stubbornly, shaking his head from side to side. He digs his nails into Tyler's sides and gets his legs between them; planting them against the man's stomach and shoving him away.

They roll off the bed together and hit the floor, Tyler on his back and Jack straddling his thighs. They're growling and snapping at each other; Tyler is hissing and swiping with his claws, dragging red lines down Jack's arms but not digging in any further. The mountain lion twists and arches beneath him, flipping them around until Jack is pinned under him again. The wolf growls and bites at his shirt sleeve, ignoring the taste of the fabric to pinch the skin beneath.

That earns him a yowl and a cuff upside the head. Pain fizzles like sparklers behind his eyes, but Jack refuses to let go. He's having too much fun to stop, and Tyler seems to be enjoying himself just as much. To anyone else, they might sound like they're trying to kill each other -- snarling and hissing as they claw and bite at whatever parts they can reach -- but their scratches are light and their teeth barely scrape. They might have a few new bruises by the end of this, but it's going to be more than worth it. Jack already feels better than he has in _weeks_.

Tyler is trying to make him submit, snarling and baring his teeth in the Irishman’s face. A small part of Jack urges him to go limp and offer his throat. The bigger part of him is furious about showing his soft underbelly to another predator, especially one that's not like him. Quitting is not in his nature, not when he's like this. If another creature wants his submission, they're going to have to _earn_ it.

Jack fights harder to get free, bringing up his hind paws to kick again when Tyler tries to adjust his position to hold the wolf down better. Neither of them hear the door open over the sounds of their scuffle, but there's no missing the loud, “What the _fuck_?” that fills the room and bounces off the walls. They both freeze, surprise and trepidation hitting Jack like an icy wave when he turns his head -- still chewing on part of Tyler's shirt -- and sees Mark standing in the doorway.

The only thought that tumbles through his head at the sight of his friend's dark, glittering eyes, is _Oh, fuck._


	3. Revalations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeyyyy, it's me again. Thank you so much to those of you who have left kudos and comments on this. It's making me flail like a madman, you have no idea. You're all so kind! I hope y'all continue to love this, 'cause we've only got one more chapter to go after this one. OH NO.
> 
> As before, this is unbeta'd, so if y'all see anything please let me know!
> 
> In the meantime, though.... ENJOY~

For a moment, Mark can't do anything but stare at the scene in front of him after his outburst. He looks at Tyler, crouched over Jack like a lion guarding his kill, and then at the Irishman; curled like he's about to kick his older friend away, part of Tyler's shirt clamped between bared white teeth. He's got the guilty look of someone who's just been caught doing something they know they're not supposed to. Tyler looks curious, his head tilted to the side. Then he smirks.

“Panel with Ethan, Ty,” Mark gets out past his clenched teeth. He doesn't like that smirk. It makes his upper lip curl back in warning; the wolf in him growls at the blatant challenge. “Better get going, before you're late.”

“Sure.” Except Tyler doesn't get up right away. He looks down at Jack, who is squirming uncomfortably after finally spitting out the shirt he'd been chewing. He's not wearing a shirt, Mark realizes with a jolt that hits him like a punch to the solar plexus. It puts his pale skin on display; his narrow, toned chest and the thick trail of hair down his belly. Something ugly and jealous twists in Mark's gut, a replay of the words _I found him first; he's_ **_mine_ ** roaring through his head from several years back. It had been playful jibe at Felix that held more truth than he'd been willing to admit to at the time. He might not be an aggressive Alpha, but he is possessive, and he's not very good at hiding it.

Honestly, he's never really tried all that hard to.

“Tyler,” he warns, his voice dropping into rumbling territory. He sees Jack twitch, those blue eyes widening, and for a second he thinks he sees the shadow of furry ears flatten against green hair. Tyler chuckles and looks down at the Irishman, a contemplative gleam in his eye that makes Mark's fur bristle all the way down his spine.

“See you later, Jack?”

“Yeah,” Jack says quietly, giving the bigger man a small but sincere smile. “Thanks for, y'know…” He nudges Tyler away, but the man doesn't go far. Mark narrows his eyes when those calculating blue eyes dart toward him before Tyler quickly leans back down. They don't leave his face when Tyler palms the side of Jack's head and pins him. Jack makes a low, startled noise in the back of his throat; it gets louder when Tyler licks across the smaller man’s face with his broad tongue, from jaw to temple.

Mark's growl is loud and angry as he takes a stiff step forward, his lips pulling back to bare his teeth. “Tyler!” he barks, and his friend bounces to his feet with a pleased little chuckle and a crooked smirk.

“See you guys soon,” he purrs, slipping around Mark and out the door. He looks as smug as a cat that's caught its prey, and Mark might feel bad later about the way he slams the door in his friend's face, but right now the wolf is too agitated. He glares at the door for a moment, breathing heavily, before he turns around to look at Jack.

“Hey, Mark,” his friend says nervously. Mark can see how hard he's trying not to fidget. “So, that probably looked fuckin’ weird, but-”

Mark cuts him off with a growl and Jack snaps his mouth shut. He can hear his friend huff quietly before those blue eyes lift to meet his again. They glimmer with a hint of challenge, so he lifts his head higher than Jack's, his tail raised and his ears up, and stalks forward.

They circle each other in the clear space of the hotel room, dodging chairs and Jack's suitcase; never taking their eyes off each other. Mark drifts closer and leans in to sniff at Jack's temple, well aware of the teeth being bared in warning dangerously close to his cheek. He chuffs and nudges the Irishman, a curious gesture, and Jack rumbles back lowly. He's warm against Mark's nose, his pale skin smooth and unblemished. He thinks he can feel the soft brush of fur before he pulls back and takes a deep breath through his nose.

Some of the tension fades when Jack ducks his head and leans in to snuffle beneath Mark's jaw. There's a quick nip that makes him growl in warning, but then Jack is licking at his throat and chin. Mark grumbles happily, licking what little skin he can reach, and they relax in turn until the mood is as easy and playful as it's always been between them. Jack is pressed up against him, his chin resting on Mark's collarbone, so he presses his face into his friend's hair and nuzzles with another happy noise.

“Been keepin’ secrets by chance, Jackaboy?” he teases quietly. He can feel his fragile grip on humanity slipping, the urge to assert his dominance only slightly eased by the other wolf's submission -- because Jack can't be anything else. He knows there's more behind those glittering eyes, the promise of a proper challenge. Jack isn't weak or helpless by any means. This is an appeasement; if Mark wants more, he's going to have to _earn_ it, and in a hotel room during PAX East is not the proper setting for something like that. They'll need space, the freedom to run, and a lot more privacy.

If that's something Jack wants, of course.

The Irishman chuffs and bites at his shirt, tugging with a playful growl before letting go and leaning back. “Don't be a hypocrite,” he grumbles, but he's grinning widely. “Shit, fuck, you've got _no_ idea-”

“I think I might do,” Mark retorts evenly, but he's grinning too. He can't help himself. “Who've you got back home?”

The question makes Jack's smile fall a little, something Mark wants to fix immediately with licks and grooming. “M’family,” he says with a quiet sadness that Mark decides he never wants to hear again. “But I don't get to see them all that much. It's just me, right now. I've been meanin’ ta go home and visit, but there hasn't been time.” Those blue eyes go distant and unfocused for a moment before sharpening back on Mark's face. “What about you?”

“I have Bob and Wade,” Mark admits. Then he snorts. “And also, apparently, Tyler, though that one was a bit of a surprise.” Just the memory is enough to get his hackles bristling. He reaches up to feel the back of Jack's head with gentle fingers, searching out the sore spot and whining quietly when he finds it. “Are you okay? It scared the shit out of me when ya went down. What the hell made you think playing with Tyler was a good idea after that?”

“It's been a while,” Jack says defensively. “I haven't gotten ta play since the last time I was home. I screwed up while I was up on stage, and he and Ethan saw it.” His next words, spoken quietly against the American’s shoulder, are heated. “I'm a grown fuckin’ man, Mark. I know my limits.”

He’s irritated, which is never something Mark likes to have aimed at him. He rumbles soothingly and licks his friend's hairline, then down his face; covering the invisible claim Tyler left until he's satisfied and Jack isn't so prickly anymore. If the other wolf realizes what he's doing, he doesn't comment on it. He just leans into the affection with a quiet whine, those blue eyes fluttering closed as he enjoys the simple grooming.

“Dunno if you know this,” Mark mutters against the hinge of his jaw, “but I'm the king of the worrywarts.” He bites gently and Jack shifts against him, pressing closer and tilting his head to give Mark better access. It's the best fucking thing he's been given all year. “Also, taking a solid guess here, but… wolf?”

“Mhm.” The affirmation is more of a rumble that Mark can feel against his lips. “Whole family is wolves. Ma leads the family pack, but we aren't bound ta it exclusively. We c'n go out and join whatever groups we want, so long as we remember where we came from.”

“Your entire family is wolves?” Mark can't keep the awe out of his voice. He can't even imagine what it must have been like to grow up surrounded by so many other primals. He was alone until he met Wade, and then Bob. Alone and struggling to find someone, _anyone_ , who understood what he was. To have had that at the tip of his claws his entire life… it would have changed so much for him.

Jack nods against him, pressing his forehead into the crook of Mark's neck and licking at the skin he can reach with a soft sound. “It runs in the family, I guess; could never really figure out how it works. We were raised as human and wolf, but she always let us choose our side on our own.”

“You lucky shit.” Huffing, Mark turns his head and presses his nose behind Jack's ear, inhaling deeply and without shame. The Irish wolf smells like his body soap and sweat, and trace smells from the convention. Beneath that his his natural musk, which is tinged with something spicy and sweet. It's an addictive scent, so Mark hunts for more of it. He leaves his own scent behind, rubbing his cheek against whatever bit of skin and cloth he can reach. Jack leans into him heavily, letting Mark support his weight, which the Alpha does without hesitation. “You lucky little shit,” he says again. “I can't believe I never realized. It makes so much sense.”

“You'd hoped though, yeah?” Jack murmurs against the hollow of his throat. He's grooming Mark just as much as he's being groomed, and Mark notices with amusement that he's focusing more on whatever parts of Mark have come into contact with someone else. The fact that he's so possessive makes something pleased curl through him; he can definitely understand the sentiment. “‘Cause I've fuckin’ hoped enough for three people,” his friend goes on, so close that they're practically sharing breaths when he lifts his head to look at Mark again. “Especially with how you get in some of yer videos, ya freak.” He says it with affection, but Mark still bites at his ear and tugs with a playful growl.

“Hypocrite,” he rumbles. Jack yelps and jerks his head away; bares his teeth and huffs before he's shoving Mark back with more strength than he's expecting. He hits the bed and bounces with a startled laugh that dissolves into a grumble when Jack deliberately lifts his head and tucks his chin to guard his throat.

“Pot, kettle,” the Irishman shoots back. There's mischief in his eyes, and Mark wants nothing more than to pin and conquer, but time and space really are against them here. He settles for wrapping his legs around the smaller man and twisting, throwing Jack off balance and dragging him onto the bed to pin him against the pillows. Mark growls right in his face, loving the answering growl and the snap of sharp teeth so close to his cheek. He thrills at the challenge Jack offers him, already knowing the inevitable conclusion they're hurtling toward. He thirsts for it like a man stranded in the desert, searching for the promised oasis; can feel it in the muscles twitching and trembling beneath his paws.

“Got you,” he growls, rough and low -- a bit overconfident, maybe, but when he sinks his teeth into Jack's shoulder, the smaller wolf whines softly and tilts his head back to bare his throat.

“Slow down there, Mark,” he whispers breathlessly. His scent tastes richer on Mark's tongue, ripe with promise and _interest_. He licks and nips, careful not to leave any lingering marks, and revels in the way Jack shivers beneath him. “We've got our own panel ta get to, y’know. Unless ya wanna disappoint all our fans and leave Bob and Wade ta fend for themselves?”

Groaning, Mark rubs his face against Jack's shoulder, licking over the faint red imprints from his teeth before he sits back. “But I wanna groom and cuddle,” he whines, pouting down at the gorgeous creature laying relaxed and willing beneath him. “And run,” he adds a little more roughly, licking his lips and watching the way Jack's pale cheeks turn faintly pink. “Fuck, do I wanna run with you, Jackaboy.”

“We've gotta get through PAX first,” Jack reminds him. He pushes himself into a sitting position, and Mark knows that he should put some space between them, but he doesn't want to, and Jack doesn't ask. So he stays on his knees over his friend, his head just slightly above the other wolf's, and rumbles happily when the Irishman smiles at him. It's a soft, goofy smile, tinged with the same awe he's still feeling at finally, _finally_ getting to do this.

“And then running?” he asks hopefully, inching closer and curving over the smaller wolf to press his face into the green hair he enjoys so much. He snuffles loudly, taking in another lungful of shampoo and sweat and _Jack._ If he focuses hard enough, he can almost feel the brush of a furry ear across his cheek.

“And then running,” Jack agrees. He leans up to press his face under Mark's jaw, licking and nuzzling before he finally wiggles free. “ _If_ you can catch me,” he adds, mischievous and coy; a heated promise glinting in those eyes that makes Mark _hunger_ in a way few things have before.

“Oh, I'll get ya, Jackaboy,” he growls, baring his teeth in a wolfish grin. The Irishman rumbles delightedly, his cheeks still beautifully pink, and Mark has the satisfaction of watching his pupils dilate, black eating up bright blue. When he licks his lips slowly, those eyes follow the act and darken even more.

“We'll see,” the Irish wolf rasps, looking up at Mark again. “You'd better behave yourself,” he warns, pointing accusingly. “I mean it. Save it for later, big boy.”

“I am always a professional,” Mark huffs, mock affronted. Need and desire burn just under his skin, a constant ache in his bones; he watches hungrily as Jack bends down to pick up his discarded shirt, muscles rippling beneath his pale skin. “You'd better behave yourself too, Jackaboy. If I have to wait, so do you.”

Jack throws him a smirk over his shoulder before he drags his shirt on. “Now, where's the fun in that?”

“Just remember that your actions have consequences, Seán,” Mark warns, and he knows he's not imagining the way his friend's breath catches at the use of his given name. It's something to file away for later; right now, they need to get back to the convention before they're late, so Mark leads the way out of the room, the wolf settling just enough when Jack falls into place beside him as easily as always.

Wade and Bob are going to know right away, but that's a good thing as far as Mark is concerned. They've talked about bringing Jack into the pack anyway. Now that he knows the Irishman is a wolf as well, he's all the more eager for it.

All they have to do is wait until after PAX.

\--

Wade knows the moment he sees them. So does Bob, once his Second turns around and gets a good look at Mark's face. He knows he must be grinning like an idiot, but he can't help himself. He also can't stop touching Jack; brushing a hand against his shoulder before draping himself against the younger YouTuber’s back to snuffle at his nape and behind his ears. They're backstage thankfully, hidden from the eager, ravenous eyes of their fans. Staff and other personnel bustle around them like they see this kind of thing every day. Considering some of the other panelist and YouTube personalities that have descended on the convention this time around, Mark bets they have.

“You're fucking with me,” his First says flatly, but there's a warmth in his eyes that belies his scowl. “Really? You guys couldn't wait until _after_ the giant convention filled with fans just itching for proof that Septiplier is really real?”

“Can't help it,” Mark mumbles, his nose still tucked behind Jack's ear. He feels blissed -- absolutely peaceful and relaxed. Scenting always does this to him, especially when it's prolonged. It's a reminder that his pack is content and and all is right in his world. Right now, things feel pretty fucking perfect.

“You know how it goes,” Jack jokes. He's not even trying to push Mark away, which makes the Alpha rumble happily. “Eyes meeting from across the room and all that shit.”

“Or two primals get their teeth into each other and magic happens,” Wade mutters sarcastically.

Jack tilts his head. “Primals, huh? Ma always called us Therians.” The Irish wolf makes a thoughtful sound. “Calls it our wild blood. I guess it's kinda all the same though, isn't it?” he muses.

“Primal has different classifications,” Bob pipes up. They're going to be called onto the stage in a few minutes, which means Mark is going to have to let Jack go, and he can't think of anything he'd rather do less. He's only half paying attention to Bob, most of his focus zeroed in on the way the scent behind Jack's ear differs subtly from his nape.

His Second speaks cheerfully, his voice lowered but still clear enough for their little group. “Theriankin lean more toward the animal soul and the animalistic tendencies,  from what I've found. Primals can too, but not all of them do. Some just sink into their instincts without an animal mindset being involved; it's just raw human nature for them. Others, like us, fully immerse ourselves into the animal we were born with. It's more of a Therian mindset, but with hunter and prey classifications instead of the more complex hierarchies some Theriantypes branch into.”

“You guys are a pack though, yeah?” Jack sounds curious, tilting his head and inadvertently nuzzling Mark, who chuffs and licks under his ear.

“We are,” he answers before his packmates can. “Wade is my First, and Bob is my Second. I'm the Alpha, but we're all considered hunters. We're more dominant creatures, but we've found a way to make it work.”

“So submissives are considered, what? Prey? Something to just be hunted?” Jack's voice is quiet, his tone more than hinting that he doesn't like the sound of that. Mark is quick to soothe him with another nuzzle and a quiet, reassuring rumble.

“Prey doesn't mean weak,” Wade says simply. “Submissive, maybe, but not weak. They can tear into someone or something just as violently as any hunter. Maybe even more so, depending on if they're backed into a corner.”

“Would you be considered prey?” Bob asks, curious and non-judgemental the way he’s always been so good at. Mark already knows the answer to the question, but he doesn't bother speaking up; there's a spot on Jack's shoulder that he hasn't touched yet. He nuzzles against it until a noise from Wade finally drags his attention away from the younger man.

“Hnnn?”

“Gonna need you to stop molesting him now, big guy,” his First huffs. The look in his eyes promises that Wade will tease them for the rest of their lives about this, but Mark is just too goddamn happy to care right now.

“I'm submissive,” Jack answers quietly after a moment, bringing their attention back to him. The muscles in his jaw twitch until Mark noses at them, attempting to soothe away his nerves. “My youngest sister is as well, but we've never been the type ta just roll over whenever some big, bad knothead comes saunterin’ by. Some of that was Ma teachin’ us ta stand up for ourselves. If an Alpha or whoever wants me ta give ‘em my throat, they'd better fuckin’ _earn_ it first.”

“Which is how it should be,” Mark agrees. “Family packs are always going to be more affectionate, but wolves in captivity have that kind of mentality, and that's typically a bunch of strangers being grouped together. They figure ranks out just fine, most of the time. Don't see why we've gotta be any different.”

“Only difference is our skin,” Jack snorts. He finally pushes Mark away, gently and after one last nuzzle where he rubs their cheeks together. “Don't know about you guys, but any Therian I met feels their soul-shift. We might be human-shaped, but that's it, y'know?”

“Always a wolf,” Mark agrees with a toothy grin. “Well, except for Bob,” he adds thoughtfully. “He's a big ol’ bear.”

“Fuck right I am.” His Second huffs, looking proud, and Mark elbows him with a rumbling chuckle. He feels bereft without Jack's warmth against him, but he uses the last of their free minutes to sniff and scent his packmates, who stand relaxed and patient while he rubs his face against their clothes and nips at them. Wade will always nip back playfully, but Bob stands placidly and lets the Alpha rub his scent into his shirt and arms.

“We've all gotta go for a run once we're home,” Mark decides. He glances at Jack and sees the excitement shimmering in his eyes. “So long as you guys are okay with Jack being there, of course. Democracy and all that.”

“Oh no, the Alpha wants to add another wolf to maul,” Wade says, dry as a desert. “Whatever will we do?”

“Oh, please,” Jack snorts. “He'd hafta catch me first.”

“All in good time, Seán,” Mark promises with a smirk. “Just you wait.”

They get called up on stage not long after that, and as much as Mark wants to keep Jack smashed against his side, he knows it's not a good idea. His packmates know it too, and they carefully arrange themselves to stand between their Alpha and the Irish wolf. Mark can appreciate how well they know him, even if it makes that dark, nasty jealousy twist through him any time Wade bumps shoulders with the smaller YouTuber. He deliberately focuses on the audience, giving the room at large a broad grin and adjusting his microphone before he steps forward.

“Hello, everybody! My name is Markiplier, and welcome to the Markiplier and Friends panel. In other words, welcome to _my_ show, and I hope you enjoy the guests I've picked for you.”

“He's so humble, it's astounding,” Bob says with an affectionately exasperated eye roll. The statement is meat with shouts and cheers. “It's no wonder you can't fit through doors, Mark; your head is so fuckin’ big.”

“Just the biggest, baby,” he retorts, letting a suggestive grin darken his face. “The biggest and the _best_. Just ask Wade.”

“Do _not_ ,” his First whines immediately. “I don't know, and I don't _ever_ want to!”

Their fans laugh, they laugh, and Mark carefully pushes his wolf down to an acceptable level. People are calling out to Jack, asking if he's alright, and he watches the way the Irishman cheerfully assures them all that he's right as rain. When his jaw twinges, Mark realizes he's been grinding his teeth; he takes a deep breath to calm himself before they get started. The last thing he needs is for their fans to see his control slip.

It's a lot of fun, once he relaxes. He always has a blast at PAX regardless of who he drags into the panels with him, but having these three friends close helps Mark to keep himself grounded. Jack's laughter sings across his nerves; Bob's cutting wit and Wade’s sardonic humor keep him grinning so hard his face hurts. They pick on each other, they tell wild, overinflated stories, and they keep the audience laughing with them. Bob brings out a card game about memes that Mark has heard of before, but never played, and the four of them spend some time being absolutely horrible human beings as they match terrible, hilarious scenarios to each picture.

“Yer a fuckin’ cheater,” Jack accuses after Mark snatches up his fifth win in a row. The Irishman points at him with a scowl, but his eyes sparkle with mirth. “I call bullshit on t’is whole fuckin’ game.”

It's adorable the way Jack's accent deepens when he's tired or riled up. Mark can't help his grin, or the way he huffs out his laughter at the irritated way the younger man is gesturing at him; turning to the audience to sway them to his side.

“They love me more,” Mark cackles, which he receives plenty of shrieks for -- both in his favor as well as Jack's. “I'm offended you would even suggest such a thing!” he adds indignantly, even as he blatantly palms and extra card for show. Of course Jack sees it -- he was meant to -- and both Wade and Bob laugh uproariously when he lunges at Mark from across the table.

“Cheater!” he bellows, scattering the cards when he climbs across the surface. Mark drops his own hand and catches Jack when the Irish wolf leaps at him. He catches him easily, laughing so hard his sides hurt, and wraps Jack in a bear hug that, try as he might, the slimmer man can't squirm out of.

“Now, now, Jackaboy,” he chastises, deliberately being condescending just to see Jack's eyes flash. “That's no way to behave at my panel.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Jack spits, but he's grinning and his cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink. His hair is a wild mess, falling in tufts across those mesmerizing blue eyes; Mark can feel the way they’re pressed together from shoulders to knees, Jack's scent filling his nose and coating his tongue.

“They're at it again,” Bob tells the audience needlessly, and the response of “ _Septiplier, away!_ ” has them all laughing. Mark finally lets go of Jack, but he doesn't let him go far.

“You hear that?” he asks playfully, tilting his head to the side. His palms press against Jack's shoulders, sliding around to pull his friend into a loose embrace. “I think the cosmos is speaking to us again.”

“Oh yeah?” Jack ducks his head, playing coy and looking up at Mark through his lashes. His fingers dance along the Alpha's sides, and Mark feels a surge of possessive arousal hit him like a punch in the gut. _Mine_ , the wolf growls, phantom fur rippling across tan skin. It's so sudden it makes him dizzy, his fingers tightening their grip, and Jack must see some of it on his face. Mark watches him lick his lips, his cheeks turning pink, and rumbles quietly enough that the microphone doesn't catch it.

“Yeah,” Mark says, letting his voice dip into that low, growling baritone that he knows makes the fans go crazy. “What do you think, boo?”

“I think you should wait until you're behind closed doors,” Wade cuts in, sounding pained. “Seriously. This much sexual tension should be illegal.”

“I think it might be in some states,” Bob comments thoughtfully. “Alaska, maybe. Definitely Ohio. Spoiler alert, that's why Mark had to move to LA.”

“You're just jealous that I've got it goin’ on,” Mark retorts, but he lets go of Jack and takes a healthy step back. He flexes and brings his arms up to show off his biceps through the clinging fabric of his shirt sleeves with a smirk. “Who could resist these babies?” He makes a show of kissing one while the audience screams and hollers.

“So what you're telling me,” Jack calls over the noise while he backs away, “is that you're Stacey’s mom?”

“Hey!” Mark lunges at Jack, who spins out of the way with a bark of laughter. “I'm way more goin’ on than her!”

“Sure are, Markimoo,” the Irish wolf simpers, fluttering his eyelashes. “You proved that last night.”

It's a bit more than they usually tease, but today has felt like one giant fandom stroke to Mark; the amount of physical affection they've engaged in, the banter -- the Septiplier fans will go home well-fed after this convention. He can't really bring himself to mind when it means he's free to play a little more than he usually might. Jack makes him _hungry_ , he makes the predator in Mark want to _hunt_. It's been so long since he's felt like this that he's loathe to keep even a little of it contained.

“This is why you love me best,” he croons, advancing on Jack, who waits with a crooked smirk and glittering eyes.

“The romance, it never dies,” Bob deadpans. “Get a room, you two.”

“Only if it's Wade’s,” Jack shoots back without missing a beat, and they all laugh at the taller man's despairing cry. Mark wants to push a little more, he feels it like an itch across his skin, but now isn't the best time. They have a panel to host, and the rest of PAX to get through. After that, he can have Jack all to himself, at least for a little while. They're all heading back to his house after the convention anyway. A talk needs to happen between the four of them, but then there's nothing to stop him from playing with Jack until they're too tired to move; running and wrestling and chasing the way their kind is meant to, beneath the moon's watchful smile.

Mark loves the frenetic energy of a convention, but he loves the idea of howling with his pack more. For now, he reclaims his seat and leans back with a relaxed sigh, reaching for his discarded cards as they settle in for another round of “What Do You Meme?” Bob knocks their knees together before they start, giving him a look that Mark responds to with a subtle tilt of his head.

“Bring it on, ya doofs,” he says loudly, giving his friends a broad, challenging grin. “Hit me with your best shot.”

\--

Tyler is leaning against his door when he heads to his room after dinner that evening. Normally that would have Mark grinning and hollering an exuberant greeting from down the hall, but not this time. The wolf stalks forward stiffly, his hackles bristling all the way down his spine as he takes in the predator lounging against his temporary territory without a care. Tyler watches him advance with dark, glittering eyes, but there's no taste of a challenge or threat in the air around him. He's perfectly relaxed, his jaw tipped down to hide his throat and his arms crossed loosely over his chest. It might look defensive, but he's relaxed.

When he's in front of the taller man, Mark takes a slow, deep breath. “Tyler,” he greets, trying for a characteristic goofy smile in case any fans wander by. “How'd the panel go?”

“Had a blast,” Tyler replies with a fond, crooked smile. “Should have seen the shit some of those fans tried to give Ethan for knockin’ Jack over. He held his own, though; they can't resist that puppy.”

“I can only imagine,” Mark murmurs, his own smile softening at the mention of their youngest friend. “C'mon in. Did you eat yet? I can order some room service.”

“Nah, I'm fine.” Tyler waits for Mark to enter first, waits for the wolf to welcome him forward before he slips soundlessly into the room. That settles Mark more than anything, his shoulders relaxing as he kicks off his shoes and goes to sit on his bed with a tired sigh.

“So,” he begins, looking up at his friend and seeing how Tyler is staring back, quiet and intense the way he always is. It carries new weight with it now, prickling across Mark's skin, and he deliberately keeps his teeth covered. Tyler is one of his oldest friends; knowing now doesn't change that.

“I'm not going to challenge you for your rank,” Tyler finally says, leaning back against the wall across from Mark and sliding down until he's sitting. It puts the wolf's head above his, something that pleases the primal, dominant side of him. The rumble building in his throat dies out, and he chuffs out a laugh instead.

“I didn't think you would,” he promises gently. “If you'd wanted to, you would have done it by now.”

Tyler nods. “I can see the appeal, in a way, but packs aren't really my thing.” He shifts until he's sitting cross-legged, his hands resting limply on his lap. “I’m more of a loner, in that regard.”

“It makes sense.” Mark runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, laughing at himself quietly. “At this point, if you told me that Ethan is a lemur, I doubt I'd be shocked,” he huffs. Tyler chuckles with him and shakes his head, several curls bouncing free of his beanie.

“All human, our blue boy,” he says fondly. Mark can see something more there, Tyler's words holding the glimmer of an affection he's all too familiar with. It makes him smile, the last of his tension fading as he leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them.

“You could have said something,” he says after a moment of comfortable quiet. “You didn't have to hide it.”

“Neither did you,” Tyler points out. “Why did any of us?” He doesn't wait for Mark to answer; they both know what he's going to say. “Just because you consider someone a friend, doesn't always mean you can share everything. Sometimes, people just aren't going to understand. It's easier to brush it off than having to deal with the awkward tension of trying to explain to someone that you like to hunt and growl and lick your wounds. Or howl at the moon and bite someone while you're wrestling. It's not considered normal human behavior, and frankly, it's no one else's business but my own, what I get up to in my free time.”

“Such a cat thing to say,” Mark teases. Tyler hisses softly, but he's grinning, his lips pulled back to show his teeth. It's not the same for him, Mark knows that, so he squashes down the reflexive growl at the perceived challenge. Their minds don't work the same, not on those levels; Tyler doesn't mean anything by it.

“Hey, I'm a mountain lion, thank you very much,” his friend growls. “I'm not some fucking house pet.”

Mark can't help his snigger when he says, “I bet you purr for Ethan while he pets you, though, don't you? The big, bad kitty cat and the little blue boy. Do you pin him down and groom him, too?”

“Do you mount Jack in the woods beneath the full moon?” Tyler retorts without any heat, mischief in his eyes and his grin stretching wider.

The mental image hits Mark like a surge of fire through his veins. Jack would look so fucking beautiful, painted in moonlight and whining beneath him. He'd be impatient and desperate, his chest heaving after the chase, because he'd never just give it up. Mark would have to hunt him, chase him down to prove his worthiness to such an appealing mate.

Fuck, that's a sexy thought.

“I'm hoping to, soon enough,” he finally rasps. Tyler can probably see the desire on his face, in his dilated pupils. He tilts his head to the side and churrs quietly.

“You gonna bring him into the pack?”

Mark swallows thickly and nods, wrestling his desires back in line and pushing them down with his primal nature. “I'm hoping to, if he wants it. Already talked about it with Bob and Wade. The spot is his, if he's willing.”

“If you want,” Tyler starts before stopping. He licks his lips, growling low in his throat to himself and shaking his head. Mark waits patiently, his ears flicking forward as curiosity simmers in his veins. If he focuses, he thinks he can almost see Tyler's ears flatten in frustration as he tries to articulate his thoughts.

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying not to push and make Tyler clam up.

“Could I come running with you guys sometime?” the other predator finally asks. “I like my solitude, but sometimes it's just… nice to be around others who _get it_. Ethan tries, he really does, but it's not the same.” He looks like the thought frustrates him to no end, and Mark can sympathize. He's well aware of the difficulties that come with non-primals trying to wrap their minds around something so foreign to them.

“Of course you can,” Mark agrees easily. “It'll do me some good, if nothing else.” At Tyler's curious frown, he smiles self-deprecatingly. “It gets difficult for me, without them around,” he admits. “If I don't find a way to get out and unwind, I get pretty bad. We've been trying to think of a way to keep me from getting there too much, even if it means them flying to LA, or me flying to Ohio, more often. But if you and I can run, it might make it easier when they're not close by, you know?”

“Yeah.” Tyler nods, stretching and arching his back with a yawn. It's getting late, the bright afternoon sun fading to the orange and purple hues of dusk outside Mark's window. He can feel the familiar exhaustion tugging at him, the comfort of his bed calling to him after a long day of panels and fan interactions. They've still got all of tomorrow and part of Sunday to go, the hours promising to be full of fun and laughter, but for now, Mark is eager for sleep. Tyler must sense this, because he pushes himself up after his stretch and stands, loose-limbed and looking just about as tired as Mark feels. He's grinning though, small but there.

“Feel better now that you know I wasn't trying to steal your wolf boy?” he asks with lazy amusement. Mark grumbles and bares his teeth playfully.

“Watch it, kitty,” he warns. Tyler rolls his eyes, but he grins wider and steps forward. They share a quick hug and a fist bump, something like silent understanding passing between the two of them.

“G'night, Mark.”

“You too, man. Sleep well.”

“Plan on it,” Tyler gets out around a yawn. He opens the door and steps out, and Mark watches him immediately shift to the side so that Jack can crowd into the room, looking curious and nervous as he glances between them.

“Night, Jack,” the taller man calls over his shoulder before shutting the door behind him.

“G'night,” the Irish wolf mutters distractedly. He stares at the door for a moment before turning to look at Mark. “Everything okay?”

“Yup.” Mark can't help the way he reaches for Jack, his fingers flexing impatiently. He's as greedy as a child demanding his treat, the wolf whining to be closer to the one that holds its affections. Jack doesn't hesitate, pressing into Mark's arms like he belongs there and tucking his head under the Alpha's jaw.

“This where you've been hiding?” he murmurs, the words quiet and his lips brushing softly against Mark's skin. He shivers at the feeling, his eyes going hooded with satisfaction as he rumbles.

“I wasn't hiding,” he huffs just as quietly. “I was coming back to settle in before I texted you, and Tyler was waiting for me. So, we had a nice conversation and no one got mauled. I consider that a roaring success.”

“Good boy,” Jack chuckles. Mark nips at him sharply, growling against his ear, and the younger man laughs even as he shivers in Mark's embrace.

The desire for more flares to life like a spark igniting in his blood. “I want to fuckin’ kiss you so badly right now.” He whispers the confession against Jack's hairline and feels the way the body against his _thrums_. Jack's rumble is quiet but powerful, reverberating through him and reaching all the way down to his soul.

“I want you to,” Jack admits, whisper-soft and breathy against the hinge of his jaw. It's all the invitation Mark needs to turn his head and kiss the other man, their lips just barely brushing once, twice -- after the third time Mark gets impatient, angling his head and kissing with more force. Jack makes a noise not unlike a whine against his mouth, kissing back hard enough to bruise Mark's lips until they swell and become hypersensitive. He growl-whines and drags his tongue across the Irish wolf's mouth, licking and nipping until he opens up and Mark can press deeper.

It's like space, vast and all-consuming with its beautiful mysteries. Like fireworks exploding and waves beating against a sandy beach. Jack is like electricity against him, sparking and buzzing and _alive_ in a way Mark has only dreamed of. He's so eager, so responsive, nipping and licking and kissing with a sloppy, wild desperation that makes Mark feel like someone has injected fire straight into his chest. He's burning from the inside out, rumbling possessively and listening as Jack's eager grumbles taper off into soft whines. Mark is whining too, claws digging into Jack's shirt where he's wrapped his arms low around the other wolf's waist to keep him close. He can feel claws digging into his shoulders, the blunt pain doing nothing to dissuade him from kissing Jack over and over again until the need to breathe finally pulls him away.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he pants against the corner of Jack's mouth before he leans back to take a good look at his friend. Jack's cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess, his eyes glassy and bright when they find Mark's.

“You are completely fuckin’ unfair,” he complains plaintatively. “ _Completely_ unfair, Fishbach.”

“You love me anyway,” Mark croons before dipping down to steal more kisses. Jack lets him, giving just as good as he gets, and Mark can't help but feel like this is the beginning of his most amazing chapter yet in his life, the wolf beneath his skin howling joyously as they pull Jack even closer and breathe in his scent.

“I might,” the green-haired YouTuber whispers breathlessly. Mark licks and nips down his throat and across his shoulder, nuzzling the fabric of his shirt and humming.

“I guess we'll have to wait until after PAX to know for certain,” he murmurs. Jack's laugh is strained, his fingers flexing against Mark's shoulders.

“Fuck, that's so far away, though.”

Mark rumbles happily and rubs his cheek across Jack's shoulder, renewing his scent even if no one else can actually smell his claim. It soothes him to do it anyway, just like with Bob and Wade.

“All good things to those who wait,” he sing-songs cheerfully. His mouth feels sore, and Jack's doesn't look much better. He watches the Irish wolf lick his lips and copies the action, tasting saliva and bitter coffee that he knows for certain he didn't drink. It makes him grin.

“Better be worth it,” Jack grumbles, but he's too soft and pliant to sound properly incensed as Mark nudges him into bed and crawls over him to the other side. Neither of them go far, curling around each other with nuzzles and little licks while the sky darkens further, the desire to sleep creeping over them faster than it usually would thanks to a long, exhausting day.

“Only the best for my Jackaboy,” Mark promises, pecking a kiss against the tip of his friend's nose just to watch Jack huff out a laugh and squirm against him.

 _Just a few more days_ , he thinks gleefully. Just a few more days, and then there's nothing to stop them from playing and chasing to their hearts’ content, exactly the way nature intended; the way their instincts yearn to more than anything. Just a few more days, and they can be _themselves_ , no hesitancy or limitations to hold them back.

Mark can't fucking wait.


	4. Playing For Keeps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This was supposed to end with some holy-hell style fucking, but these boys apparently had different ideas. So... there's some porn? But not what I'd been figuring on. Which means that some time, probably in the near future, there's gonna be a one-shot of some sort that has the porn that did not make it into this. Because I made a promise to PoemIsDead, and I intend to keep it. Somehow.
> 
> Either way, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING THIS FANFICTION. IF YOU LIKED IT, SLAM THAT KUDOS BUTTON IN THE FACE - LIKE A BOSS!
> 
> *ahem* But seriously, thank you all so, so much for joining me on this journey into Septiplier. I love watching these guys be goofballs. They make me smile. They deserve all of the good things in life. Please forgive my flailing. Feel free to proceed now into the last chapter of this insanity.
> 
> ENJOY~

The days following any kind of convention usually pass in a haze of exhaustion for Jack. There's saying goodbye and flying home; making the trip back to his lonely little apartment and curling up in bed for at least a full day to sleep off the inevitable crash. He stockpiles videos to satiate his fans before he even leaves his house, films a few with friends while he's away, and gives them a quick update once he's home before succumbing to the blissful darkness of dreamless sleep. He's not home right now, but the sentiment is basically the same on the ride back to Mark's house from the airport after PAX.

“Earth to Jack! You in there?”

Fingers snap in front of his nose, jerking him out of his stupor. He blinks owlishly at Wade, who looks back at him with an understanding smile. “Up and at ‘em, pupper,” the older wolf coaxes. “I doubt our wacko leader will accept you sleeping in the car when there's puppy piles to be had.”

Looking around stupidly, he realizes that they're already at Mark's house. He barely remembers the drive from the airport; can't remember if he contributed a single thing to the conversation, or if everyone stayed quiet and lost in their own tired thoughts. With a groan, he hauls himself out of his seat and stumbles toward the trunk to grab his suitcase. Mark appears at his elbow like a silent shadow, brown eyes dark with mingled concern and exhaustion.

“You gonna make it, Jackaboy?” he asks, only partially teasing. Warm fingers curl around his elbow to steady him and Jack huffs, clicking his teeth at the older man.

“M’fine,” he grumbles. “Been way worse. Just gimme a bed.”

Mark laughs quietly. “I might have one or two of those. C'mon then, in you go.”

They all drag themselves inside and drop their luggage in the living room, too tired to take their suitcases and duffle bags any farther. Jack blinks blearily in the painfully bright artificial light, aware of Chica dancing her way between all of them with that special brand of exuberance only a soul like hers can possess. When she reaches him, he crouches down and buries his face into her thick ruff with a pitiful whine. He hugs the golden retriever, his arms limp, and feels the way she braces to take his weight when he leans against her.

“Best puppy,” he praises, licking the side of her muzzle without hesitation. She licks him back, her tongue bigger and softer, almost ticklish against his beard. Jack laughs and accepts his impromptu bath until a shadow falls over them and he squints up to see who's standing beside him. It’s Mark, his face relaxed into a gentle smile. “Wha’?”

“Bedtime, boo,” the Alpha murmurs, offering a hand to help pull him to his feet. Mark doesn't let go though, just keeps pulling until Jack lands against his solid chest with a surprised grunt, quickly wrapping his arms around the older man and pressing his face into warm, spicy-scented skin.

“Better best,” he decides with a nod, ignoring the sounds of amusement coming from behind him. Mark chuffs and nuzzles into his green hair, giving his temple a quick lick before gripping Jack's elbows to guide him back.

“Let's see if you still think that after some sleep, yeah?”

Jack doesn't usually get this loopy, but it's been a hell of a few days. Aside from the amazing chaos that fills any PAX convention like it's own kind of living entity, he's had hours of being wrapped up in Mark. Sometimes with Bob and Wade, or Ethan and Tyler, but the majority of his free moments have involved and revolved around Mark; kisses in private and wild flirting in public, his wolf whining for more and being forced to bide his time. Now they're here, in Mark's house, and he's so tired that he can barely keep his eyes open. It's not how he planned for things to go once they had access to the privacy they both craved so desperately, but Jack knows they aren't going to be able to so much as headbutt each other properly until they get some sleep. There's also a few sights he highly doubts their friends want to have front row seats to; he's just going to have to keep being patient for now.

“Bed,” he grumbles, turning toward the stairs even though he usually claimed one of the downstairs spare rooms the last few times he came to visit. Bob and Wade have a head start on him, both of them waiting at the top landing with exhaustion written into every line of their bodies.

Jack isn't sure what nudges at him until he follows them, Mark a steady, accepting presence right behind him, but he doesn't fight the pull. They lead the way straight to the Alpha's room, shedding their pants and, in Wade’s case, his shirt along the way. Bob toes off his socks before he climbs into the middle of the bed, rolling onto his back and stretching out until he takes up most of the available space. Wade doesn't seem bothered at all; he smashes himself up against the bear's side and throws an arm across Bob's stomach like they do this every day.

“Don't be shy,” Mark rumbles in his ear, no doubt sensing his momentary hesitation, so Jack takes his advice. He strips out of his jeans and drags his socks off, throwing them at the wall beside the bedroom door. The bed barely creaks under his added weight, and Bob lifts an arm for him without opening his eyes, tucking it around Jack's shoulders once he's squirmed as close as he can. He settles against the bigger man's side with a happy groan.

“Sleep as long as you want, boys.” Mark says it like he's not just as tired as them, the bed dipping beneath his weight when he climbs in behind Jack. The older wolf plasters himself along his back, his nose pressed behind Jack's ear and his bare chest so warm against the Irishman’s back. He presses back into the contact with a blissful sigh, tilting his head to give Mark more access to his neck and resting his hand over the one that settles against his stomach. His other arm drapes over Bob's ribs, just above Wade’s, as the four of them become an indistinguishable mass of limbs.

Jack can't remember the last time he's felt so comfortable, so _safe,_ and it takes no time at all for him to plunge headfirst into sleep -- and stay there until the scent of meat cooking rouses him almost sixteen hours later.

It's like he blinked and the sun came out, filling the bedroom with dazzling light and cheerfully letting him know that it's well past morning. He lifts his head groggily, yawning so widely that his jaw cracks, before thumping his chin back down on the body he's sprawled across. Bob is still dead to the world beneath him, snoring and snuffling against Jack's hair. He barely stirs from his slumber, one arm thrown heavily across the Irish wolf’s back. Jack noses at him curiously and chuckles quietly when he gets no response. A quick glance shows that neither Mark or Wade are in the bed anymore, but barely a moment later he hears a toilet flush and the sound of running water. When the bathroom door opens and Wade sticks his head out, Jack chuffs to get his attention.

“Mornin’,” he grunts, looking like he’s still half asleep. Jack eyes the alarm clock beside the bed, which shows that it’s after three in the afternoon, and grins.

“Mornin’,” he parrots with a yawn, keeping his voice quiet so he doesn’t disturb the bear sleeping under him. “Sleep well?”

“Like the fuckin’ dead,” Wade replies, his grin lopsided and fond. He pads over silently and moves Bob’s arm so that Jack can slip free, making the bigger man snort and grumble in his sleep. Somehow he doesn’t wake up, so the younger YouTuber considers that to be a win.

“Somethin’ smells fuckin’ amazin’.” Stretching, he arches his back and curls his fingers, rocking up onto the balls of his feet before settling back on his heels again. He bends backwards, feeling the satisfying pops down his spine, and groans at the relief that follows. “How long ya been up?”

“Few minutes. Think Mark beat us all.” Rubbing a hand through his thinning hair, Wade makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat. “Bathroom’s safe, if you need it. See you downstairs.” He brushes past Jack, giving him an affectionate headbutt on the way by; an action that the wolf returns happily before he meanders into the bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. Bob is still snoring loudly when he pokes his head back out, but he’s rolled onto his side now and he’s wrapped around the closest pillow. Jack can’t help but huff out another quiet laugh, walking on his toes to keep his steps silent and fervently thanking whoever’s listening that the door doesn’t creak when he opens it. Chica is already coming down the hallway when he steps out, probably attracted by the sounds of life. Her magnificent tail is wagging so hard that her whole body is wiggling.

“Good mornin’, yeh beautiful girl,” Jack coos, crouching down to give her a friendly nuzzle and a lick across her forehead. She licks his face in return, chuffing happily, and he finds himself responding with a little whine that makes her lick him again.

It’s so easy to be himself here, especially with a creature like Chica. She eats up his affection without hesitation and responds in kind. There are no strange looks. No disgusted expressions. As far as she’s concerned, Jack is a human-shaped canine, and that’s perfect with him. Being around others like himself, even in the quick, stolen moments they all managed to snag at PAX, has already done wonders for his mental state. Jack knows that he should have done something to level himself out sooner; he should have gone home months ago, back to his family pack, but he never made the time.

It puts so much strain on him, being alone for too long. Wolves like him aren’t meant to live the life of a loner, and yet that’s the life he’s unwittingly made for himself. He’d already resolved to go home once the convention was over; this turn of events, though completely unexpected, has been an extremely welcome balm to his psyche. To be surrounded by other Therians -- ones he _knows_ , creatures he calls _friends_ \-- leaves Jack bubbling with renewed energy, the depression that had been brewing along the edges of his mind dissipating like mist.

He bounds down the stairs, taking them two at a time and laughing when Chica thunders after him with a happy bark. They tumble across the family room and into the kitchen in a tangle of limbs and wagging tails and long, soft golden fur. Wade chuckles from where he’s leaning against the island, the bottom half of his face hidden behind an oversized mug of what smells like coffee. Mark is standing at the stove in a sleeveless shirt and baggy sweatpants, sunlight shining off his red hair and making his eyes sparkle when he looks back at them over his shoulder.

“Try not to break any bones before breakfast, will ya?” he teases before returning his attention to the pan full of sizzling sausage he’s been tending to. Jack sees another pan with batter cooking in it, a thick stack of completed, fluffy pancakes sitting on the counter beside the stove. The scent makes his mouth water and he whines eagerly, untangling himself from Chica’s warmth and slinking over to snatch one.

Mark bats his hand away before he can, a rumble coming from deep in his chest. “You wait your turn,” he chastises without taking his eyes off the sausage. “We eat together, you know the rule.”

“But I’m _hungry_ ,” Jack whines, but he doesn’t try to take another pancake. He presses up against the Alpha’s side instead, breathing in his scent and tucking his nose beneath the Asian man’s jaw. He feels the subtle shift of the body he’s leaning against as Mark turns to give him more access, and Jack takes full advantage. He’d shove himself between the bigger wolf and the stove if he could get away with it, but he can’t, so he settles for wrapping his arms around Mark from the side and chewing on his shirt until the red-haired man snorts and gently nudges him away.

“You’re gonna make me burn it,” he fusses, pouting at Jack and looking more like a disgruntled toddler than the fully grown, responsible adult he actually is. His bangs tumble across his face, tufts falling into his eyes and partially hiding them. Jack doesn’t like that; he brushes them away so he can see those warm brown eyes smiling at him. In a fit of boldness, he licks the other wolf’s nose and immediately ducks out of reach, evading the hand that grabs for him and giggling before he darts around the island to stand beside Wade.

“This much adorableness is really sickening so early in the day, just so you know,” the taller man complains, but he still lifts an arm for Jack to snuggle up against his side and wraps it around the Irish wolf’s shoulders despite his grumbling. He even manages to pry himself out of his coffee long enough to rub his nose into Jack’s green hair and snuffle at his bangs.

“Good t’ing we’re well int’a th’ afternoon,” Jack replies dryly. Mark barks out a laugh, twisting to dump the links of sausage onto a waiting plate. He sets the pan back on the heat and lays strips of bacon in the popping grease in one smooth movement, leaving them to start cooking as he moves to flipping the finished pancakes and plating them before pouring more batter into the skillet. It’s all so effortless, like it’s something he does for a living rather than just for fun. Jack watches with interest, seeing the way his muscles ripple beneath his skin. The warm light spilling into his kitchen makes him seem to glow, highlighting his muscles and drawing attention to the rich brown of his eyes when he smiles over his shoulder at them. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s almost unfair; that much physical perfection shouldn’t be allowed to exist, as far as Jack is concerned. The fact that Mark is such an incredible person just makes him all the more appealing; it doesn’t matter how sexy you are if you’re just a dick wrapped in pretty packaging.

Bob lumbers in while Jack is pouring himself a mug of coffee. He sees Mark's steaming mug of tea on the other side of the sink and brings it with him, setting it within reach of the man before retreating to drink his beloved dirty beans. A palm drags across his shoulders on his way past and he smiles at the Alpha. Mark smiles back, rumbling quietly in thanks, and then Jack is by the island again, watching Bob swing his head slowly from side to side like he's trying to slough the last of his sleep off. The bear is so close to the surface that Jack can almost see the way his dark fur shines in the afternoon light spilling through the windows; the twitch and flick of small ears nestled amongst his wild curls.

“Mornin’,” he says around the lip of his mug. Bob yawns, scratching at his bare stomach.

“G’mrnn,” he mumbles back, groping his way toward the coffee pot from memory and giving Mark a wide berth to avoid knocking the shorter man into the stove. “Food,” he grunts, and Jack can't help his snicker.

“Soon, big guy,” he promises, because it looks like the pancakes are done, and Mark has plated the bacon with the sausage and moved onto thick slices of ham. It all smells so good that his mouth is watering, his empty stomach cramping in protest at having sustenance so close but not yet indulging. Setting his mug down, he creeps closer to the stove and the man guarding it with nothing but sharp eyes and a greasy spatula. “ _Maaaaark_.”

“All of you go sit,” the older wolf orders, pointing at them each in turn with his spatula. “Give me two minutes, alright? _Two_. Try not to start eating each other in the meantime.”

“I don't know,” Wade muses. “Jack's shoulder looks pretty tasty.” He leans toward the Irishman and opens his mouth. Jack shifts away, eying the teeth coming closer and curling his lip in warning. Before he can say anything, Mark growls. Loudly. They all look at him, and Jack feels a shiver run down his spine. Mark's eyes are dark with warning, his knuckles white around the handle of the spatula. His lips are curled back to bare his teeth.

“Table,” he rumbles, and Wade laughs easily. He retreats back to his own space without a fuss and Jack lets out the breath he's been holding. Mark looks at him, his head tilted to the side, and for a moment Jack can't see any trace of humanity in his eyes. It's all wolf looking back at him; a territorial Alpha -- the king of his castle -- reestablishing order with a look and a single sound. There's no hint of violence, no threat of danger, and that more than anything makes heat burst through Jack's belly.

He's always appreciated an Alpha who could assert themselves without resorting to fighting. Someone who could compel others to obey with just a look or a light touch. It's fucking _sensual_ , instinctive; that thrilling pull of the wild that makes him want to offer his belly in a show of trust. Jack licks his lips and sees the way Mark's eyes darken in reply, following the action, and he knows that he's so fucking gone on the bigger wolf just as surely as he knows he doesn't care one bit about that fact.

Bob is the first to sit, draping himself over the top of the table and watching Mark with patient eyes, his arms curled around his plate. Jack sits beside him and Wade claims the seat across from Bob, giving Jack a wink and a sneaky thumbs up. It's hard not to be amused, even with the sparks of interest warming his blood. Mark is so loose and fun in everything he does, but when those darker instincts show through it hits Jack like a board upside his head. He wants to play with the Alpha. He wants to play so fucking badly, and he knows that Mark feels the same way. It's in every look and touch, his smile sweet and his grip hungry, winding Jack up and making him want _more_.

Mark brings the dishes to the table and stands with his hands on his hips, looking over the spread with a critical eye before nodding in satisfaction. “Serve up,” he says, clapping his hands together before taking his seat across from Jack. The Irish wolf is expecting him to fill his plate before any of them, but Wade is the first one to reach for the meats. Bob spears three pancakes on his fork and drags them onto his plate with a happy grumble before he goes after several sausages. Unsure of what he should do, Jack hesitates. Usually, mealtimes at Mark's are a free-for-all of grabbing and jostling each other while laughing, but this morning feels different. The weight of _knowing_ adds a new element that leaves him feeling knocked off balance, each of their Therian souls so close to the surface that Jack is surprised they've managed to speak at all.

“Seán.” His name on Mark's tongue sends a jolt through him; blue eyes snap over to meet brown immediately. Mark smiles at him gently and nudges the plate of pancakes closer. “Eat,” he encourages.

“What about you?” Jack asks lamely, still off-kilter. His instincts are trying to make sense of the scene in front of him; the Alpha always eats first, but Mark hasn't reached for a single thing yet. He seems content to wait.

His friend's smile gentles even more, turning soft and affectionate in a way that makes Jack's heart thump hard behind his ribs. “That's not how it works with us,” he says, like he knows exactly what's tumbling through Jack's head. “In this pack, I feed my family first, and then I eat. So, dig in. Trust me, there's more than enough to go around.”

Jack reaches for the pancakes, marveling at how incredibly _different_ Mark is from the other Alphas he's come across. The instincts are there, and they're _strong_ , but even though his Therian nature clearly rules Mark's reactions to his surroundings, his Alpha nature does not. Not the way Jack was expecting, which is stupid and stereotypical on his part. He's known Mark for years; he's not a different person now that Jack knows for a fact that a wolf lies behind his human façade.

“So it's just the three of you?” he asks as he fills his plate with food. Wade and Bob are already tearing into their portions, grease slicking their fingers and lips as they eat voraciously. There isn't so much as a butter knife anywhere to be seen, which is fine as far as Jack is concerned. He rips his pancakes into chunks and gnaws through them, happily surprised when the taste of cinnamon and sugar bursts across his tongue.

“Has been for years,” Mark confirms, watching Jack eat for a moment with a satisfied look on his face before he finally starts to pick through the -- admittedly ample -- remains. “We've never really come across anyone else who fit well enough to extend the offer to.”

“We're pack creatures by nature, obviously,” Wade adds around his mouthful of bacon, “but considering our professions, we're also incredibly picky.”

Bob grunts. “We have to be, unfortunately.” Licking his fingers clean, he makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “Some things are private for a reason. They have to be.”

“Fuckin’ right,” Jack mutters. “I can't remember th’ last time I left my house for somethin’ that wasn't groceries. I love doin’ this shit, but so many people know who I am now. I'm stuck inside, and all I've wanted ta do is _run_.” He doesn't give voice to the other reasons, but he doesn't need to. He's pretty sure the three creatures sitting relaxed and happy around him are more than aware of the insecurities that branch through his mind like a stain. The fear of being himself in the wrong place and getting found out; the resulting backlash from people who don't understand, and those who just like to be mean for the sake of tearing someone else down.

“You can do that here,” Mark promises fervently. “There's a park nearby; we film a lot there. But we also run a lot, late at night. There's plenty of space, and no one around. We can play as long as we want, and we've never been interrupted.”

Hearing that makes Jack _whine_ , longing slamming into him with the force of a wave and threatening to drag him under. “I want that,” he whispers. “I want that so fuckin’ much.”

“So we'll go tonight,” Bob says easily. Mark and Wade nod, the former eager and the latter with a crooked grin. “Wade and I have to leave tomorrow, so it'll be nice to get another good run in before then.”

Jack had almost forgotten that they wouldn't be staying. They had originally meant to, the four of them had planned to hang out and goof off for the rest of Jack's trip, but Bob has to get home to his mate and their new cub. Wade could have stayed, but Jack knows that he's eager to get back to Molly. Once they're gone, it'll be five days with just he and Mark in the house, the two of them doing whatever they want to. As much fun as it would have been with all of them, Jack can't help but feel giddy at having that much of Mark's time just for himself.

“I’d like that,” he murmurs, grinning down at his plate. “A whole fuckin’ lot.”

“So we'll head out at midnight,” Mark decides. “That'll give us all time to shower and rest a bit more; maybe play a round or two of something or other before we head out.”

“Tha’ sounds perfect.” Grinning, Jack attacks his food with renewed vigor, wrinkling his nose at Wade when the bigger wolf laughs at his eagerness. “Laugh it up, ya fuckin’ sasquatch. You'll get yers t’night.”

“If you say so,” Wade snorts. “Guess we'll have to wait and see.”

“We sure fuckin’ will,” the Irish wolf promises. Mark guffaws at the both of them, but Jack doesn't miss the way his eyes glitter with excitement. He can't help but think it's one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, but he keeps that thought to himself and goes back to shoving food into his mouth like he hasn't eaten in days.

Fuck knows he's gonna need the energy for tonight.

\--

Mark is twitchy and restless; so much so that Wade was the one who drove them to the park, citing the need for them to get there _alive_ , because Mark was vibrating like a druggie going through withdrawal. The Alpha had growled and nipped at him, but his First beta just huffed and stepped aside for Bob bodily move the agitated wolf toward the front passenger seat. When Mark tried to duck around him, Bob had wrapped him in a bear hug -- the thought had almost made Jack snicker -- and physically shoved him into the car. He'd been shifting in his seat the whole way there, and Jack would have wondered why if every look from those dark, hungry eyes hadn't sent heat prickling through his fur.

The night is cool and clear when they climb out of the car, the ground still damp from the rain that fell during the early evening. It was a short storm, but it made them all the more eager to get out and play -- they just made sure to wear clothes they wouldn't mind getting muddy, and Jack left his shoes at the house rather than bringing them along. The wet dirt feels wonderful against the balls of his feet and between his toes, his wolf shuddering into place with a low, eager whine. He stretches, the wind teasing against his cheeks and ears, and shakes his head happily. Mouth open, tongue heavy against his lower lip, he pants to taste the air and lopes a little farther from the car until a low rumble makes him pause and look back.

Mark is watching him, eyes bright and calculating in the moonlight. Jack can see the alert ears, the ripple of gray fur that's a few shades darker than his own as the wind ruffles through it. Mark's humanity is slipping away as quickly as water through the cracks in asphalt, his Therian soul rushing to the surface until any semblance of the lovable goofball man is gone, and only the predator is left to stare Jack down and lick his lips. Wade is shaking away his human inhibitions with a literal shake of his head; Bob is already lumbering toward the trees with a low, snuffling huff.

Jack is the first to bolt, driven by the need to run and the desire to see if this Alpha has what it takes to keep up. He's not the smallest wolf in his family pack, but he's not as big as these American wolves; he is fast, though. Fast enough to evade Wade when the bigger male tries to cut him off with a low, playful growl. Jack snaps at him, grinning and huffing before he's racing farther from the road, letting the trees and the dark night shroud him in shadows.

A fight breaks out behind him; he can hear Wade and Mark snarling when the Alpha tackles his packmate and they go rolling through the grass, biting and clawing at each other. Jack would worry, but he knows how he and his siblings play; it always sounds far more aggressive than it actually is. Mark is also clearly in a mood, his need to assert his dominance factoring in more than usual, so Jack leaves them to sort themselves out and keeps up his ground-eating lope. Bob almost sends him crashing into a tree when the bear appears out of nowhere, taking advantage of the Irish wolf's distraction, but Jack is much smaller and more agile than the bigger predator. They play a quick game of keep-away tag, Bob's massive paws swiping at him gently while Jack darts in and out of reach to paw and bite at his clothes.

It's the most fun he's had in ages, the wild singing through his blood wiping away the inhibitions and doubts that like to cloud his human mind. Everything is so much more vibrant like this. So much simpler and relaxing. He's not worried about games or recording, or weighed down by expectations. Like this, Jack's only concern is how fast his opponents are; how well they're able to keep up and how good they are at playing.

When Mark appears, Jack almost doesn't see him at first. It's the flicker in the corner of his eye, the shift of displaced air and the sensation of eyes on his nape, that tells him they have company. Bob groans, low and raspy, and Jack yips in return, dancing in place and wiggling as he tries to entice the bear into another round. Bob looks interested, his head jerking up and his nostrils flaring, but then Mark is sliding into the space between them and growling at his Second. The Irish wolf gets the image of ears laying flat, Mark's lips curling back to bare white teeth. Bob huffs and steps back a few feet, watching with dark eyes as his Alpha turns to stare Jack down.

Displeased at losing his playmate, Jack growls and shows his teeth. Mark rumbles and lifts his head, circling closer with intent and interest in every step. Jack stays still until the wolf is close enough to touch, anticipation humming through his bones and buzzing in his ears. As soon as the Alpha is within reach, he lashes out; snapping at Mark's face and making him stumble from an unexpected blow to his flank. The Irish wolf doesn't wait for the other to recover -- he turns and bolts farther into the trees, listening to the sound of Mark giving chase.

It's been a long time since Jack has played this particular game with anyone. He's managed to find a few meet-ups with other Theriankin on internet forums, and he made his way to a handful that were close enough to his den. One or two of the wolves caught his interest, but never enough for him to engage in this kind of behavior. There was only ever one wolf, a female Alpha with sweet brown eyes, and she caught Jack fair and square after a few meetings where they played and tested the waters. They both knew it wasn't going to last between them, but they had fun while they were together. Jack missed her for a while, but then he stumbled across Mark's channel, and that was it for him.

To be out here, running beneath the moon, with the man he's admitted to loving on camera and in front of millions of viewers -- albeit for different reasons than most of them probably suspected -- is more than Jack could have ever hoped for. To know that the American has the wild in his blood, just like Jack does, makes him want to howl his elation to the silver maiden hanging high above them. That would slow him down and give away his location though, and he's not about to make it easy on the other wolf just because Jack _wants_ him to win.

If Mark wants Jack beneath him, he's going to have to _earn_ that right.

The park is bigger than Jack realized, but its still only so large; he makes sure to keep well away from the borders, just in case a late-night walker is meandering around on one of the trails. The last thing they need is to scare the life out of a civilian -- or worse, literally run into one. So Jack stays amongst the trees, weaving through the trunks and listening for any sound of pursuit. Now that this is a proper hunt, he's keeping low and moving as quietly as possible, straining his ears to catch any rustle of leaves or the snap of a twig underfoot.

Even though he's so hyper aware of his surroundings, Jack almost doesn't see the other wolf when he finds him. Mark moves at just the wrong moment, the flash of his bare skin catching the Irish wolf's attention almost too late. The Alpha's growl is deep and savage, rumbling like thunder; he hits Jack with the force of a tidal wave, holding nothing back because this isn't about being gentle. This is an age-old dance of dominance and submission, of hunting down mates and prey long before Man learned how to build shelters and grew soft from them.

Snarling, Jack kicks the Alpha to the side with his hind paws, scrambling to his feet and darting away. Mark is fast but he's faster, but Jack is still at a disadvantage. He doesn't know this area the way Mark does, doesn't know the trails and hills the way the Alpha has learned them. When he crests a small rise, Mark is already there waiting for him. He tackles Jack again and they go rolling back down, biting and growling at each other. Jack bites his tongue and tastes blood; leaves a red smear across Mark's bare shoulder when he sinks his teeth in. The bigger wolf retaliates by cuffing him so hard that Jack sees stars. He yelps and shakes his head, disoriented and blurry-eyed but by no means incapacitated just yet.

Getting all four limbs between them, he heaves and throws Mark off of him, rolling to pin the other wolf and baring his teeth with another savage snarl. The Alpha snarls right back, twisting and wrapping his legs around Jack's smaller body. He's not expecting it, and Mark's grip is like iron. They flip again, leaving the Irish wolf pinned beneath Mark's bigger bulk, and when teeth sink into the side of his neck, hard enough to keep him still but not enough to draw blood, Jack knows he's been caught. He could keep fighting, but his wild blood has been appeased by the chase and the capture -- the Alpha has won fair and square.

Whining quietly, he lets himself go limp and pliant, tipping his head back to offer more of his throat and squirming when Mark rumbles and lets go to lick at his sweaty, dirt-smeared skin. They're both panting, drenched in perspiration and covered in streaks of mud and grass; their clothes are a wreck, just like they'd figured would happen. Mark's loose tank top is sticking to his skin, showing off every muscle and making Jack's mouth water. He licks at the wolf's chin and jaw, whining and yipping and letting out happy little huffs that turn to pleased hums when Mark lays down on top of him. The Alpha is between his legs, strong arms resting on either side of Jack's head; fingers threading through his damp green hair to angle his head just right so that Mark can kiss him.

It's nothing like a normal kiss between humans. They're licking at each other's mouths and nuzzling, whining and rumbling and knocking their heads together. Jack wiggles and squirms, feeling playful and mischievous, so Mark presses him harder into the grass until their groins rub together his whines break off into moans.

Sharp teeth nip at his ear and Jack's breath catches. His digs his nails into Mark's shoulder blades and turns his head to offer more, whining at the hot tongue that drags down the line of his throat. His friend nips his way back up, sucking hard enough in a few spots to leave bruises that have Jack's hips jerking up. He chokes out a groan, feeling the heat crawl across his face when Mark growls just under his ear, pleased and rough.

“ _Mine_ ,” he rumbles, fingers rucking up Jack's shirt when he lifts up enough to get a hand between them. “My Jackaboy. _Mine._ ” He sounds so fucking pleased that Jack feels his fingers curl, digging his nails in harder and dragging a groan from the Alpha's throat.

“Ya won, big boy,” he pants, arching up to bite at the hinge of Mark's jaw and shuddering at the noise that gets him. “Now what are yeh goin’ ta do about it?”

Mark growls, thunder and lightning clashing to create a powerful, ground-shaking act, and Jack feels it rumble through him. It ignites a fire in his chest, one that spreads out from his soul and fills him until he feels like he's going to burn away to nothing if it's not tamed. Mark keeps it controlled with hungry, biting kisses; licks to every part of Jack he can touch and fingers that leave their own brands across his lower belly and his hips. He's on his back, the grass wet beneath him, and it doesn't feel _right_. His pleased, eager noises turn to discontented grumbles, and when Mark lifts away far enough to check on him, brows furrowed, Jack rolls onto his stomach and lifts his hips by way of answering the silent question.

“Too fuckin’ good to me, Seán,” Mark says, low and thick and _wrecked_ , like it's taking all he has to find his voice within the wolf's primal fervor. “Too _fuckin’_ good.”

“Less talk,” Jack rasps back, growling and arching his back to fit them together as much as possible. “C’mon, _c’mon_ , fuckin’ take what's yers. Ya caught me, now _do_ somethin’ about it.”

Mark's teeth find his nape and Jack whimpers, dropping his head and curling his shoulders. He shudders and whines with every scrape of teeth, digging gouges into the wet earth beneath him in an attempt to ground himself. Strong arms wrap around his waist like bands of iron, keeping him exactly where Mark wants him, and then the Alpha is grinding him into the grass and Jack is gasping; choking out moans and wordless pleas, because they haven't even taken their fucking clothes off and he can feel the hot, hard line of the man's cock through their shorts. He doesn't want fabric in the way, he wants sweat and skin and _contact_ , but Mark seems determined to fuck him into the dirt just like this, growling and panting and smearing kisses across Jack's sensitive nape just as often as bruising bites; staking his claim in a way that can never be misconstrued.

“Fuck sake, Mark,” Jack whines, trying to reach down and shove his shorts out of the way. Mark is practically holding him up as it is, it shouldn't be that hard, but Jack can't get them out of the way. Each thrust of the Alpha's hips against his ass unbalances him, so he's got to use both hands to brace himself if he doesn't want to break his face against the ground. “ _Mark_.”

“ _No_ ,” the American wolf growls, dragging him impossibly closer so that there's not even a sliver of air between them; rolling his hips in a constant, punishing grind that drags the most desperate sounds from Jack that he can ever remember making. It's the hottest fucking thing he's ever experienced, hands down. He knows he's going to cum in his pants and he can't find it in him to care. Jack lets himself race toward that ledge, incapable of slowing down or holding back with Mark so dominant and demanding behind him, that broad chest rubbing against his back until the friction of his shirt against his skin leaves Jack oversensitive and whimpering.

“You're so loud, Seán,” Mark growls in his ear, dark and pleased and so fucking sexy that his toes curl and he keens. “Are you gonna be this loud when I've got you all to myself, pinned to my bed where no one can hear you? When I open you up for my cock and fuck my knot into you so you can't get away while I fill you?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jack sobs, hurtling toward oblivion so fast that he's dizzy and disoriented, thrashing beneath Mark and nearly braining himself against the grass despite his earlier efforts. “Please, fuck, _please_.” He doesn't even know which part he’s begging for the most -- getting fucked, getting _knotted_ , or all of it. Mark licks behind his ear soothingly, the touch surprisingly gentle considering how hard his hips are still grinding forward.

“I'll take care of you,” he whispers, _promises_ , and Jack thinks he's going to say more, but then the Alpha stiffens against him and snarls. It's deep and dangerous, a threat that tears through the dark night; Jack lifts his head and squints with blurry eyes to see what's set the wolf off. He sees Wade backing quickly away, Bob a bigger, darker shadow at his shoulder. They're gone just as quickly as they appeared, leaving Jack and Mark still tangled together.

It should be mortifying to him that their friends just caught them practically fucking in the middle of a park in LA. Were he more in control of his human hesitations, Jack would probably never want to show his face to either of them again. As the wolf, he's irritated by the interruption, but more so by the fact that his Alpha has stopped. He turns his head and nips at the bigger wolf, grumbling to show his displeasure. Mark growls and nips back, catching his ear and making him whine. The pain blends into the pleasure easily, taking him right back up to the precipice he'd been balanced on.

“Please,” he whispers, squirming and trying to rock his hips against the ground. Mark's not giving him the chance, his arms tight around Jack's waist to keep the Irish wolf right where he wants him. It shouldn't be enough, but this has been a long time coming. This is _Mark,_ and Jack has loved and admired him for so long. He's watched his videos and somehow, impossibly, become his friend. His admiration for the man has only grown over the years, and so has his love. And now Jack is being pseudofucked within an inch of his life, desperate and begging for it because it's _Mark,_ and the Alpha has more than earned his claim.

Jack's cock throbs, and then he's cumming with a bitten-back howl, nearly breaking Mark's nose when his head snaps back. The world is black and white and soundless, and pleasure tears him apart at the seams, only to build him back up into something new and raw. He feels heat and pressure on the side of his throat; sharp teeth and a warm tongue dragging across his skin.

Mark thrusts against him half a dozen more times before stopping and trembling, and Jack knows he's following him over the edge into that sweet oblivion. He feels as uncoordinated as a newborn pup, his limbs weak and floppy when he tries to move them. Jack ends up rolling onto his back and dragging Mark down to lick lazily at his mouth and chin, and he feels so fucking satisfied that he can't contain the raspy rumble rolling around in his chest.

“You are a fuckin’ _beast_ ,” he croons, grinning when Mark huffs against the side of his nose. “When c'n we do that again?”

“Insatiable heathen,” Mark chides fondly, but he sounds just as satisfied as Jack feels. “When we're not in danger of scarring the rest of the pack, I will fuck you the way you deserve,” he promises against the Irishman’s lips. He still sounds more wolf than man, his words rough and disjointed. It sends pleasure coiling through Jack's abdomen, the dying fires of his need flaring sharply before settling into a smoulder again.

“You'd better,” he huffs, rubbing up against the bigger wolf and shuddering as the last of the aftershocks twitch through him. “ _Fuck_.”

“Mmm, soon,” the American rumbles. “Give me a bit to recover, and we'll see what we can do.”

Jack can't help the snort that bursts out of him. “Now who's insatiable?” he teases. Mark's grin is wolfish and full of promise.

“For you, pup? Always.”

Growling at the endearment, Jack nips at his nose. “I am _not_ a pup.”

Mark's laugh is rich and loud, echoing through the surrounding trees and filling Jack to the brim with life and more affection than he knows how to handle. He settles for one more kiss instead, this one soft and sweetened by all of the things he's not sure how to say. The bigger wolf must understand at least some of it, because he kisses back just as gently and cups the side of Jack's face with one broad palm.

It's too much, but it's never going to be enough either, so Jack nips one last kiss against swollen lips and pushes Mark away. The man makes a sound of complaint, looking ready to protest until he sees the playful gleam that must be glittering in Jack's eyes. Before the Alpha can pin him again, he's up and running like the hounds of Hell are chasing him, barking happily when Mark swears and scrambles to his feet to give chase.

This time, Jack doesn't bother to stifle his joyous howl, the wild in his soul bursting free in a melodious song. Mark's howl joins his, and then Bob and Wade add their own voices. The four of them call to each other, tracking one another down, and when they finally burst into a little cleared area, the first thing they do is tumble on top of each other and laugh.

It's here, surrounded by these incredible people who have so willingly come to call him their friend, that he finds the peace he's been searching for since the day he left his Ma's territory. Here, in this park in LA, with this little mismatched pack, Jack knows with absolute certainty that for the first time in years, he's finally come home.

It feels wonderful.


End file.
